Mark's Back
by Bob Schwartz
Summary: Mark returns to Pherae to help out of his favorite lordling fight off Bern. Basically FE 6 with perhaps a few minor changes and the ever-lovable tactician returning to thoroughly crush Bern. Hiatus'd and up for adoption. PM for details.
1. Dawn of Destiny

Uhm... This is my first fic, so please don't flame.

I rewrote this chapter, twice, because I have become disgusted with how it was done, twice. So, it's not necessary to reread, it's just written with gooder grammar, and maybe a few other new things.

Disclaimer: I don't own Fire Emblem, Intelligent Systems, or anything else Fire Emblem related, except this story.

---

Chapter 1: Dawn of Destiny

---

He chuckles as he hears the stories told of him, and how he has taken the title of an old friend, "Living Legend".

The purpose for which he wields this title is and was because he once saved the continent, and perhaps the world, from a mad man, Nergal. Nergal's intent had been to resurrect dragons from ancient times, and use them to conquer Elibe.

He commanded the army that crushed Nergal.

And now, with a new enemy on the horizon, twenty years later, he will return, and once again save Elibe.

---

"Master Eliwood! The bandits from the Bolm mountains are attacking us! They'll be at the castle gates in minutes!" Merlinus cried.

"Blast!" Eliwood muttered. "If I weren't in this state, I would teach them a lesson!" he roared, the effect lessened by the short coughing fit which followed.

"Mister Eliwood?" a young voice inquired, walking into the room.

"Lilina," Eliwood said, "you must hide somewhere. This castle is going to become a battlefield soon."

"No, sir," she forcefully replied, standing her ground. "I will fight, too!"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Eliwood sternly said, coughing some, before continuing. "If something were to happen to you, I don't know what I would say to Hector." His voice was solid, one which left no room for debate.

"To my father? But..." She trailed off, looking down in dismay.

He calmed visibly. "It's going to be all right," he soothingly told her. "Roy should almost be here by now, so if we can hold off on our own until then, he'll drive off the bandits."

She nodded, turned, and exited the room.

After the door shut behind her, Eliwood called, "Merlinus! I want you to send a messenger to Roy, informing him of this attack immediately!"

"Y-Yes, sir!" Merlinus quickly replied, shooting out the door as fast as his aged body could carry him.

Merlinus, since the days of Nergal, had become old and weak in body, but stronger and less timid. His face remained quite similar, and he wore a long, dark green cloak.

Sprinting down the steps to the courtyard, he found the knights scrambling around, running this way and that. "Lance!" he hollered, greeted by the familiar teal-tinted Cavalier.

"Yes, Sir Merlinus?"

_-Castle Pherae, Gate-_

"Boss!" a scrawny bandit with a large head called. "The people inside the castle have barricaded themselves in!"

The leader, a larger man with a regular-sized head, approached his subordinate, chuckling as he did. "Even Eliwood, the greatest Knight in Lycia can't beat an illness, eh?"

The scrawny bandit chuckled in reply. "You were right when you said there wouldn't be many knights 'cause o' their getting' ready to take on Bern."

"Of course," the leader indignantly. "Who do you think I am?" The scrawny bandit shrunk, apparently appeasing the leader. "But you never know when reinforcements are going to come."

Turning to his troops, the leader continued. "All right! Kill off the guys in the castle while we still got time!" he yelled. "Then the treasure is all ours!"

Walking from the leader, a particularly large bandit muttered to his accomplice, "Castles ain't the only place with treasure. Let's go his the villages and get some loot!"

"Yeah!" his accomplice replied as they charged into a nearby village, followed by a few others.

It wasn't a minute before they left it, multiple buildings burning and roads covered with corpses.

_- South of Castle Pherae-_

Lance had, fortunately for speed, left before the bandits had surrounded castle Pherae, and he had ridden southwards, passing a village he knew to be called Isola, before a little red-head came within sight.

Roy waved to Lance and had the group quicken their pace. The Cavalier slowed as he approached the young Lord. "What's the matter?" Roy asked. "Why are you in such a hurry?"

"Master Roy, bandits have appeared and are attacking Castle Pherae as we speak!"

"What?!" another Cavalier yelled. "Is Lord Eliwood safe?!"

"He was inside, commanding the defenses. But I don't think they'll be able to last."

A large man, green-haired with large, orange armor, moved to be next to Lance. "Excuse me," he began, as if the matter at-hand was far less urgent, "Lance, is it? Is Lady Lilina safe?"

"Lasy Lilina is inside the castle," Lance curtly replied.

"No... I shouldn't have let Lilina go to the castle before me..."

"Master Roy!" the smallest of the group spoke up from the back. "Regret won't solve anything! Hurry, we must take the castle!"

The eldest, an old, frumpy Paladin voiced his agreement with the Archer. "Wolt is right. We must hurry!" he said, his voice filled with seldom-heard energy.

Roy nodded. "Alright," he said, "this is what we'll do..."

_-Isola-_

He stood, leaning against the wall of a tavern, the name of which amused him greatly. _'The Violent Goat'_ it was called, and as for why such an atrocious name came to pass, the man would never know.

He chuckled as he thought of it, only to be brought out of his reverie by a knight riding into the village, through the opened gate.

He conversed with a young villager, with several more older villagers, before accepting a bundle and riding out. Following this, they moved to shut the gates.

The man quickly move from the shadows. "Excuse me, but I can't be pent up in here. I've an appointment with the Marquess," he said.

During his stay, he'd been a prominent Ilian business man, visiting Eliwood to offer his mercenaries' services. He had been offered a free room, but he declined. Taking from the poor was the government's job. And, once he finished doing what he had come there, he would return, and take the free room.

Fair was fair.

He exited to the village, the Cavalier having long since charged onward, leaving the corpses of between eight and nine bandits. All in all, an excellent job from what the man speculated to be a significantly small group.

He turned the corner, many Pheraen villages designed as rectangles, and noted the long line of dead and bloodied bandits.

All in all, he would have puked his guts out, if he hadn't seen that site already at least twenty times. In fact, he realized, he was generally the one who _caused_ these unfortunate fates to the bandits.

_-Castle Pherae-_

Roy slid to a stop in front of a bandit, clutching his Rapier tightly.

"You damn idiots!" the leader muttered. "Can't you take on these bastards?"

"Lay down your axe and you will be tried in court."

"Huh?" The statement had caught the bandit by surprise. But as he processed it, he began to chuckle. "What? To be found guilty? What sort of fool do you take me for?!" he yelled, shouldering his axe. "I am Damas, and your killer!"

With that, he tore through the air, rushing at Roy, and swinging his heavy axe overhead, but cleaving only the grass.

Roy had sidestepped the swing, and stabbed the bandits' side, so deeply that the sword protruded from the other side.

Pulling the blade out and sheathing it after a quick wipe down on the grass, Roy rushed into the castle gate, which had been broken through in the attack. But thankfully the inner-castle was clear of bandits, as Roy was met with cheers as he entered.

His small party soon followed, and he lifted an awkward hand in acknowledgment, before calmly walking into the castle itself, and sprinting to his father's room from there.

"Father! Lilina!"

"Roy, is that you?" his father asked, just before Lilina rushed into the room, hollering "Roy!" at the top of her lungs with glee.

"Father, Lilina..." He trailed off, his eyes tearing up, ever-so-slightly. "Thank goodness you're alright."

_-Outside Castle Pherae-_

"Excuse me, sir, but the Castle is temporarily closed to visitors," the soldier said.

"Ah, but is it closed to occupants?" The man didn't think he was that good at impersonating other people, and consequently, he didn't do it often, but it seemed to be the quickest way to gain entrance to the castle without drawing unnecessary attention to himself.

"Eh? You're not an occupant."

He chuckled softly. "I am under the orders of Marquess Ostia to come and speak with his lordship, Roy of the mercenaries Marquess Eliwood wished to hire. I believe it is rather urgent," he said, stopping there. He did not want to oversell it.

The guard looked skeptical, but stepped aside nonetheless. The man nodded his thanks, but rolled his eyes as soon as he had passed the guard. _Security here is a joke, _he thought.

He knew the castle front and back, it having been in several of the boring tactical books he had read during the past years. His footsteps became hastened as he marched up the stairs, and, with some effort, reached the second floor of the castle, the floor which Eliwood resided in.

Passing each door, he heard nothing in each, until he heard a muffled sniffle behind one door. Smiling, he pressed his ear to it, and, fortunately for him, it was indeed Eliwood's personal room, and, based on what he was hearing, Eliwood had his son Roy, and someone else the same room.

He listened and listened, until the opportunity presented itself. He would not simply barge in, that would not do for a a grand entrance. Instead, he would barge in, but at a key moment, with a fitting line, that would leave them astounded.

The door swung open. "I believe I may be able to help with that little trifle, Marquess Pherae," he said, smiling, and exaggerating the title.

"M-Mark?!" Eliwood cried, astonished.

"In the flesh," Mark smiled.

"H-How?! What? Why are you still...?" he began, each question interrupted by the next.

"Okay, I'll assume you were going to ask how I got here, what I'm doing here, and why I'm still young." Mark replied. "So I'll answer those questions. Tricked a guard, and really Eliwood, your security is awful, I'm here to help Roy, of course, and..." Mark paused to think of the third question, smiling when he did. "And, I have no idea. But it looks good, right?" he added with a drop of sarcasm.

Eliwood chuckled nervously, smiling as his laugh died down. "Oh," he said, "Roy, Lilina, this is Mark. He was the one who led us to victory twenty years ago."

"Pleased to meet you," Lilina said with a smile.

"Oh, yes, pleased to meet you," Roy added.

An awkward silence engulfed the four, in which Mark scratched the back of his head, and sniffed loudly. "Uh... So..." he finally said. "Just, uh, keep going...?"

"Ah, right," Eliwood said. "Okay, so now we have an accomplished tactician."

"I would like to join Roy, as well, Mister Eliwood! My father is in charge of the main army, and my magic could be of some help to Roy!" Lilina chimed.

Mark chuckled. _Hector had a girl, ha! I'll have to pay him a visit soon._

"No, Lilina," Eliwood sternly replied.

A defiant look spread over the young Ostian's face, and she replied, "Why?"

"With Hector's absence, there is no one currently sitting on the throne of Ostia. The people must be feeling uptight as well. You, being the princess, must return and ease the tension of the people until Hector returns."

She looked as though she would argue, but he cut her off with, "Am I wrong?"

She looked down in defeat. "No sir..."

Eliwood smiled and patted her head, before turning to Mark, who had moved to be next to Roy. "Alright," he said, "you two must go to the Bern border and meet with a mercenary group that I have arranged a contract with."

Mark snickered. Apparently his guise had not been entirely inaccurate.

"I'll send Merlinus along with you. He'll be very helpful with his knowledge." Mark looked skeptical; Roy looked thankful.

He voice his thanks to the Marquess, who replied, "You can do it. Go, and show them you you are: the next Marquess of Pherae!"

Roy and Lilina exited the room soon after, leaving Mark and Eliwood alone.

Eliwood coughed some, holding a fist to his mouth and clearing his throat. "Yes," Mark said, "thank you for bringing up the topic. That is one of the reasons I came here. You've been bedridden for two weeks."

"Yes, well, the Healers say I'll be able to sit on the throne once more in a few more days."

A doubtful look set over Mark's face as he waited patiently.

"Alright, fine," Eliwood finally said. "It's been coming and going for about a year, but hasn't been this bad until now. The Healer's say it will continue to be this way, leaving and returning worse, and for longer, until I finally can't take it anymore."

"And you haven't told Roy," Mark said, pinching the bridge of his nose and shutting his eyes. "It's just going to get worse and worse, the longer you wait." He paused. "If I end up revealing it some foolish manner, you can't hold it against me."

"Well, then, I may as well just tell him," Eliwood said with a chuckle.

---

I think I'm finally happy with this beginning, right here. If you would be so kind as to... review, on the subject?

Thanks in advance.


	2. The Princess of Bern

Uhm, I rewrote this chapter too, because I felt it needed some touching-up, as well. Ironically, I didn't really grammar-check it at all, but I think I have moderately good grammar, so that should be okay.

---

Chapter 2: The Princess of Bern

---

Waking up that morning, Miledy had stretched her arms, a smile finding its' way onto her face.

She would be taking the Princess back to the Bernese capital. Despite the distance between Castle Martel, the castle she was currently relaxing in, and the Bernese Capital, she had her wyvern, and she just felt positively energetic.

Changing into her red armor, classic of those who served Bern, she walked out of her room, all her belongings, those being a lance and a few miscellaneous items for the trip back to the capital.

She walked out through the hallways, and out the gate.

A soldier rushed up to her, saluting.

"At ease," she calmly said. "What's the problem?"

"Captain Miledy, the Princess is missing!" he screamed, the urgency of the situation evident in his voice.

_But does he have to yell so—Wait, what?!_ she thought. "What?! The Princess is missing? Where is the Lord, er, Rude?"

"I'll go and get him immediately!" He scurried off into the castle, leaving her rage to fester.

Soon, another soldier barreled out of the castle. "Where is the Princess?!" Miledy asked her. "And where is Lord Rude?"

"I don't know, Captain Miledy, she was in her quarters this morning," she said. "And his Lord Rude will be here shortly."

"Round up a search party, and—"

"Lady Miledy!" a portly, blue-haired man with a mustache called as he hustled out of the castle, stopping a few feet short of her, sweating on a level between moderate and profuse.

Ignoring the smell, and began to yell at him, each of his replies, to her, sounding more and more pathetic.

"What I'm asking," she barked at him, after several minutes of arguing, "is where the princess is!"

"Y-Yes Captain Miledy," he stuttered. "I'm certain she was in her room this morning..."

Stepping towards him, her hand dangerously close to her lance, she exasperatedly yelled, "I've heard that enough already! What I'm asking is where the Princess is, _at this moment_!"

He backed away from her. "She's... Er... She's..."

Taking a deep breath and holding her head with her hands, she continued, in a much calmer voice, "We're almost going to a head-on war with Lycia. What if something happens to the princess? Can you take responsibility?"

He shrunk in his large armor.

"I should never have let her Majesty come down to the border in the first place," she said, more to herself than anyone else. "I will go to the capital and inform the king about this matter. I'll try to keep it calm, but you must find the princess as soon as possible."

With all the courage he could muster, he saluted. "Yes ma'am!" he replied.

Nodding to him, she mounted the wyvern which had been brought to her at some point during the conversation, and rose into the air, flying off from the castle.

Watching the beast disappear, Rude grinned. "Is Princess Guinevere still with us?" he asked a soldier, without turning to look at him.

"Yes sir," the soldier replied, "she's under constant monitoring in the basement room."

"Good," the Knight said, evidently relieved. "Don't let her escape."

Nodding, the soldier turned to leave, but he hesitated. "Sir," he began, turning back to face the Knight's back, "are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Don't worry!" the Knight laxly replied. "Bern has plenty of enemies." He chuckled. "The younger sister of Bern... We'll be sure to get a hefty amount of gold from Etruria... maybe even Lycia."

The soldier was still hesitant, and it showed.

"We're not going to get anywhere by serving our country, anyway. So we're better off thinking of ways to make money fast, no?"

Apparently unconvinced, the soldier nodded, replying, "Yes, sir. But there is one little problem with that plan."

"Oh?" Rude inquired. "And what is that?"

"The reason I came out here, was because I had just received a report," he said. "It said that Princess Guinevere's assistant, that Prietess, has escaped."

Rude paused, as if the data given to him were incomprehensible. But slowly, his expression turned vengeful. "What?!" he roared, hurling his fist into the unprotected chin of the soldier, sending him flying several feet. "You fool! Why didn't you say this earlier? Go and search for her immediately!"

Barely lifting himself from the ground, he replied an almost inaudible, "Yes, sir," before jogging into the castle, holding his jaw soothingly, returning with an even forty men, some carrying axes, lances, bows, and even a few swords.

Rude glowered at the soldier that might cause his downfall.

_-En Route to Bern-Lycia Border-_

Mark looked skyward for a moment. The clear blue sky, the bright yellow sun... HE enjoyed the outdoors, so much in fact, that is was second, only to the indoors.

Heaving a moderately bored-sounding sigh, he retrieved a a book from under his green cloak, and began to jot down a bit of the journey so far.

_'Joined Roy. Heading to... a village, the name of which escapes me, on the Lycia-Bern border, to meet up with some mercenaries, before heading off to Araphen. Side-note: There is a castle which Bern has control of to the east of said village.'_

He shut it, and placed it back under to cloak. Looking back up and sighting a small group of buildings in the distance, with a lovely backdrop of mountains, and, behind the mountains, far I the distance, he made out a tall tower, most likely part of the castle.

_Finally, a real bed,_ he thought, a smile spreading over his lips.

The remainder of the walk had gone uneventful, save for Mark salivating ever-more, as they advanced on the village.

"And, we're here," he cheerfully announced, as they stopped near the gate to the village, the scheduled meeting place.

"So this is where we're supposed to meet with the mercenaries?" Roy asked.

"Yes," Merlinus replied, "although it seems that they aren't here—"

Mark sighed loudly, interrupting the merchant. "Why can't people just be—"

He was cut off by a sharp elbow to the ribs, courtesy of the young Archer, Wolt. "Don't be so rude," the Archer murmured.

Mark narrowed his eyes at the boy, before elbowing him back, with equal strength. "Respect your elders," Mark replied.

"Oh," Merlinus said, distracting the pair from their staring match. "It looks like someone is coming here right now."

The woman in question was running towards them with all the speed she was able to muster, stopping breathlessly in front of them. The party studied her appearance. She had brown hair, fair skin, and wore a white dress, showing her rank in the Elimine Chruch's hierarchy. Held tightly in her right hand was a staff.

"Are you okay?" Roy asked.

Having regained a significant amount of her composure, she replied, very humbly and kindly, "Yes, I'm fine."

"It's good that you're not hurt."

Mark could not help but chuckle at that, obvious statement.

Her breath almost entirely back to normal, she looked Roy over. "You're from... Lycia, are you not?"

"Yes," Roy replied. "I am the son of the Marquess of Pherae."

"Oh," she murmured. "Dear God! I thank you for your guidance!"

Mark's eyes opened with that, and he took one, two, three steps back from the, as he considered her to be, hysterical woman. And he was not alone in the reaction. Roy had raised his eyebrows, and Merlinus looked somewhat taken aback.

"Please, could you help rescue my mistress?" she sheepishly asked, scarlet from the outburst.

"Well, I say we do it!" Mark valiantly said. "Roy, thoughts?"

"What happened?" Roy asked.

"My mistress and I were traveling," she began, "to meet someone, from the Lycia Alliance. However, while we were passing through here, we fell into a trap set by Rude, the lord of the castle to the east.

"We were captured," she continued, "but I was able to escape."

"Master Roy!" Merlinus piped up. "We must not yet get into any unnecessary entanglements with Bern!"

"But we cannot neglect a person who has come to the Alliance for help," Roy countered, a thoughtful look spread over his features.

"Second," Mark added, lazily moving to stand next to Roy.

"There they are!" The party in question turned to face the source of the yell: a skinny soldier with a javelin, poised to strike. "Hey guys, over here! It's the servant girl!" he hollered. "It doesn't matter if she's dead or alive!" he added maliciously.

"Uh," Mark said, biting his lip. "Sorry, Merlinus, it looks like we'll have to fight this one." He leaned over to the merchant. "I was on your side the whole time, though, I swear."

As Mark spoke to Merlinus Roy turned to Ellen. "Miss Ellen, please find somewhere safe to hide for now."

"No," she said, with force that Roy, despite how little he knew her, believed to be something she seldom exhibited, "I will accompany you. I cannot fight, but I can heal wounded allies."

"Oh, but—"

"We'd be overjoyed if you were to join us," Mark announced, before turning to the Cavaliers and Marcus, who soon charged to meet the foot-soldiers ahead.

Overhead, Mark could see a Pegasus Knight gliding through the air. _No... Bern doesn't have Pegasus Knights... They use wyverns. So who does she work for?_ he wondered.

_~West of Mark's Party-_

"Hey, Dieck, who's our client this time?"

Dieck was a teal-haired Mercenary. He wore no shirt; only a blue, spiked shoulder-pad and brown pants, which tucked into boots. He turned to Ward, the man who had asked him the question. "The Pherae family, one the of Marquesses of Lycia. They're heading to join the Lycia Alliance."

"So we're going against Bern?"

Lot was an orange-haired, masculine man, who wore a dark green tunic and similarly colored pants that tucked into brown boots.

"That's what it looks like," Dieck replied.

"A worthy opponent!" Ward enthusiastically said, punching his fist. Ward wore all the same clothes as Lot, save for one difference: the color. While Lot favored green clothes and had orange hair, Ward enjoyed blue clothes, and had brown hair. "Time to show some skill, eh?"

A Pegasus Knight came into view, landing just in front of the trio. "I think I've found them!" the Pegasus Knight exclaimed. "But it looks like they're fighting someone down there."

"What? A battle's already started? Thany, you go and help them and tell them who we are, and we'll catch up."

"Alright," Thany replied, flying off west, followed by a sprinting Dieck, Lot and Ward.

Meeting up with the Lycia Alliance Army, Dieck introduced himself as the mercenary hired to Eliwood. Following that, they went east along the southern edge of several mountains, clashing with Bernese forces all along the route.

The mountains retreated as the group passed two forts, and they turned to head north, dealing with a rather large number of Mercenaries and Archers.

"And, that ahead, appears to be the leader," Mark told the group, as they gathered around him for instructions, after handling another twelve soldiers. "He's a Knight, but he has a Mercenary and an Archer next to him." Mark rattled off instructions to each of the surrounding units, who nodded.

Of course, the strategy had succeeded, the only damages being a few dents in Bors' armor. Roy had claimed the castle and entered it, Merlinus hustling behind him.

Mark had followed, turning to the group behind him, who were staring at him. "Um, come in, then," he said, turning and entering the castle, the party trailing behind him.

Shortly after Mark had entered, Merlinus, having left to secure the castle, returned. "Master Roy!" he yelled, as he advanced on the Pheraen. "We have rescued a lady trapped in a room in the basement."

Roy nodded. "That must be Ellen's mistress," he said. "Have her come here."

A blond-haired woman with similarly colored eyes, wearing a red dress walked in, and Merlinus stepped aside for her.

"Your Majesty!" a voice called. All eyes turned to the Priestess, Ellen, but she did not notice; she was too busy with the woman.

"Ellen!" the woman replied, with a smile. "Oh, are you alright? I never knew you would do such a brave thing for me... You had me worried."

"Well, I wanted to rescue you no matter what..."

Noting Ellen's reaction, she hastily said, "It is fine, Ellen."

Mark had just entered into the conversation. _Wait. 'It is fine'? People don't say that. They say, 'It's fine'. What the hell? Oh, wait. Could she be a... noble?_

"Thanks to you," she continued, "I am safe now."

_Oh yeah, _he mused._ Definitely a noble._

"I am in your debt," the woman continued, this time speaking to Roy. "May I ask your name...?"

"I am Roy, Roy said, "son the Marquess Eliwood of Pherae."

"And I am—"

"Your Majesty, are you sure?" Ellen asked.

Mark snorted. _Way to keep the secret, Ellen. _

"It is all right, Ellen. My name is Guinevere," the woman said.

_Oho! Called it, _Mark mused, smiling at his intelligence.

"That the name of the Princess of Bern," Roy mused, as though he were unable to put all the pieces together, those pieces being Ellen referring to the woman as 'Your Majesty', the aristocratic manner in which she walked, and the fact that she and the Princess of Bern shared a name.

"Oh, Roy, Roy, Roy," Mark said, putting a hand on the young Lord's shoulder. "You have a lot to learn, my friend. This, is the princess. As in, the real deal. Like, the King's sister."

Furrowing his brow, he looked up at her. "You are the Princess of Bern?"

"Yes. Although, I am not sure you believe me."

"Even if you are not the princess, I can tell from your actions and dress that you are certainly someone of high social status," Roy said.

"Or," Mark grumbled, "you could just rely on your friendly neighborhood tactician, who just dishes out loads of helpful advice. You could do that."

"But if you are indeed Princess Guinevere, one thing does not seem right," Roy said. "Ellen told me you intended to meet with someone from the Lycia Alliance."

"Yes, that is correct."

"Why, then, would you do that if you are the princess of an enemy nation?"

"I want to find a peaceful way to end this war," she said. "I figured if I could speak with someone from Lycia, I could find some solution."

"Bad idea. Most people, and, perhaps even ourselves, would take you hostage and use you as leverage to bargain for their safety or something. Personally, I would ask for some truffles. Have you ever had truffles? They're fantastic."

Tabling the discussion of truffles, and other chocolate confections, Roy replied, "Your brotehr started this war. Is it in your power to stop it?"

Knowing something of the rank between a Princess and a King, Mark also knew that unless she had some serious leverage, she would have no chance of ending the war.

"I certainly wish to stop it... No, it must be stopped."

"Way to avoid the question," Mark muttered.

"I see," Roy replied. "Then would you like to accompany us to the Lycia Alliance Army. I'd like to meet with Lord Hector to discuss this matter."

"Oh, because Mark certainly isn't important enough," Mark sarcastically muttered.

"Honestly... You will take me?"

"Yes," Roy said. "If there is a possibility to avoid bloodshed, and end this war, then we must try it, no matter how small the chance."

"Roy, could I speak to you for a moment?" Mark asked.

Roy turned, and nodded, leaving the room, and walking into the hallway. They walked for a few minutes in silence. "Er, what was it that you wanted to talk to me about?" Roy asked.

"What? Oh, that. I just wanted to know what your thinking was on taking in a valuable hostage as a friend. Most in your situation would trade her for safety, or money."

"She wants to find a peaceful way to end this war. I believe that we should seek that end."

Mark turned and looked Roy in the eye. "Buddy," he said, "there is no way—no, possible way—that this war will end without some massive battles. Surely you know that."

"I don't agree with that," Roy resolutely replied, turning, and walking away from Mark.

Mark sighed. "Tisk-tisk, Roy," he murmured as he, too, walked back to the party. "Clinging to hopeless dreams isn't the smartest thing to do in the world, however admirable."

_---_

I wrote that for three hours straight, and, may I say that it is PAINFUL. So, if you would be so kind as to, I dunno, Review in exchange for my pain. I mean, this is 3000+ words, people.


	3. Late Arrival

Chapter 3: Late Arrival

---

Mark ran a hand through his brown hair. The sun was bright and _hot_ in the sky, beating down on him like... a star beating down on a poor tactician.

Just as clarification, Mark did not like the sun. He wore layers upon layers of heavy robes, and with all the walking they were doing, he felt like he was about to keel over.

He wiped his forehead with his right sleeve, and looked at it.

It was fairly damp.

He scowled at the damp sleeve, and furiously shook his hand, trying to rid himself of the fowl material, becoming enraged, and even more sweaty.

This sudden act drew the attention of the rest of the group.

"What's wrong with him?" one person whispered.

"I think he has..." another replied.

The vein to the left of Mark's left eye throbbed, and he spun to face the entire group, still shaking his sleeve vigorously.

"Who here is very strong?"

"I am!" a brown-haired man called. Mark looked at him. He was big, and his hair was lifted up by a blue headband. His eyes were small, and he wore blue.

"What's your name?" Mark asked him, forcing himself to stop shaking the sleeve.

"Ward,"

"Well, Ward, I have a task for you. It will be a great challenge... and it requires great physical strength... I do not know if you can do it... Would you like to try?" Mark's voice was as honest as he could manage, which, he thought, was fairly honest.

"Of course!"

"Alright. Your assignment is... to hold my robes!" Mark said, practically ripping off two of his four layers of clothing, and tossing them to the Fighter.

The clothes sailed through the air, moving as though aerodynamics were inexistent. Ward caught them, and with a resounding "Oof!" he stepped back, evidently shocked that they weighed more than five pounds.

"Well, you can carry those, just until we make it to Castle Araphen!" Mark declared, smiling widely.

While Ward slung the robes over his back, mumbling something about the "foolishness of that insane tactician", Mark continued forward, humming cheerfully. Without two robes... he weighed at least twenty pounds less! He opened a book he'd taken out of his robes, just before he'd 'handed' them to Ward. Still humming, he wrote: _Just north of the Pherae Territory stands the mighty Castle Araphen. This is where the Lycia Alliance has gathered to discuss the matter of going to war with Bern. And... I'm heppy. Happy. That's what I meant to write. Heppy isn't word. Damn, what a waste of space. Note to self: create a writing utensil that uses graphite or led that can be erased with a putty-like substance._

"Lord Roy!" a messenger called, as he rode towards the young lord. The messenger handed Roy a small, rolled up piece of parchment, tied with with a red ribbon with golden trim.

Red ribbons with golden trim were never a good sign.

Roy untied the ribbon, and began to read it aloud. Mark jogged over and listened.

_Bern has a trio of elite generals called the Three Dragon Lords. Two of these three, Generals Brenya and Narshen have attacked Castle Araphen and nearly decimated the Lycia Alliance Army. _

"Oh damn..." Mark muttered. "That just... Everyone! Come on, Castle Araphen is under siege!" he called to all of his 11 soldiers, as he placed the letter in his journal, and hopped onto Merlinus' cart. "Ride the the wind, Merly!" he called to the merchant at the head of the wagon.

The pace in which they were advancing upon the castle increased dramatically, but Castle Araphen was still a good half-day away, even at the pace they were traveling."

_~Castle Araphen, Throne Room~_

"Your majesty, we have just captured the enemy leader."

Zephiel smiled, showing his pointed teeth. "Good," the King said. "Bring him before me."

The double-doors to the Throne Room flew open, a large, old man in blue armor, covered in red, flying through them. He landed on the floor, his face relieved by the cold stone.

Against the protest of his arms, legs, and his whole body in general, he managed to get on his knees, without the use of his hands, which were presently tied behind his back. "You... Zephiel, the King of Bern! Damn you!" the General furiously yelled.

"Ah, Lord Hector," Zephiel said with an arrogant smile. "I must praise your fighting ability. Putting up such a good fight against _two_ of my Dragon Lords... I suppose they do not call you the leader of the Lycia Alliance Army for nothing." He paused. "However, you were not skilled enough. Pray while you can, for you end here."

The room was silent for a moment, save for Hector's heavy breathing and Zephiel drawing a sword. However, Hector was not quite ready to die. He spoke up, barely audible over his loud gasps.

"Why...?" Hector wheezed at the King.

"Hm?" Zephiel replied, pausing in the withdrawal of his sword.

"Bern and Lycia... We were always on good terms with each other. Even when you took the throne, we have always paid Bern our respects."

Zephiel chuckled. "Respects? Don't be ridiculous. Lycia... No. This entire continent, must go under my rule. That is the only way to liberate the world. I lack the time to be worrying about such trivial things as respect."

"To liberate... this world?" Hector asked, still wheezing.

"It is of no importance to you. You are going to die anyway." He turned from Hector, staring at the wall, and replacing the sword in its' large scabbard. "Someone!" Zephiel barked. "Take him away!" Two soldiers appeared through the double-doors and grabbed Hector. "Take him to the dungeon!"

"Yes, sir!" The soldiers saluted, before dragging him out of the room.

The soldiers left, and General Brenya addressed Zephiel. "Your majesty, I will now return to the Sacae Plains."

"Yes, you may be on your way."

She began to leave, but hesitated. "Your majesty, one thing before I leave..." Zephiel nodded. "I beg your pardon, but I do not think it is such a good idea to put too much trust into sinister people..."

Pausing for a moment, and sighing, he replied, "Do you mean Idoun?"

"Yes. Our soldiers call her the 'Dark Priestess' and do not approve of her presence. I understand that she is a Shaman of great power, however..."

"Brenya," Zephiel began, turning to his general and looking into her purple eyes, "do you not have faith in me?"

She flinched. "Of course I do, your majesty! I just thought--"

"Then all you do is follow my orders. Understood?" His voice was not harsh, but it was solid, a voice that left no room for question.

She opened her mouth, but closed it almost immediately. "Yes. I will do whatever his majesty wishes."

After she had left, Zephiel sat on the throne, and leaned his head on his right hand. "'Do you not have faith in me?' Dear, dear, the things I say sometimes..." he muttered to himself

_~Entrance to Castle Araphen~_

"So Lord Hector is still alive?!"

"Yeah, that's for sure. I saw some of Bern's soldiers drag him into the castle," a boy responded. He had short, spiky blond hair, and wore the garb of a Thief.

"Chad, was it? Do you know the inside of Castle Araphen well?" Roy asked.

He shrugged. "I guess... Wait, are you guys planning on retaking the castle?"

Mark and Roy nodded.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. The bulk of Bern's forces may be gone, but there are still a decent number of soldiers in there. It would be suicide to try and charge them with your army."

"Perhaps--"

"Perhaps?! Of course it's suicide! That's why _I'm _here. To make it not suicide. And, even if I weren't here, we still couldn't afford to lose Hector."

"I see... Then I guess I'll go along too. I can show you around the castle."

"What?! No, don't feel—"

"Great!" Mark interjected. "We're happy to have you, now let's retake the castle and save Hector, already!

"Dieck, get to the front. Lance you go..." Mark began to move everyone around, while Guinevere spoke with Roy.

"Master Roy... I'm sorry for my brother's doings... I didn't think he would invade Lycia so soon..."

"My Lady," Roy began, "there's no point in dwelling on the past. Please, do not blame yourself. Besides, Lycia is still in tact. And if we could get Lord Hector back, we could once again unite all the Dukes. We must capture Castle Araphen for our sake! And for Lilina's..."

"Alright!" Mark yelled, a dangerous smile appearing on his face. "Lance and Marcus, go north and wipe those guys out, and talk with the villagers! Alan, Thany, go west and take care of those soldiers and that village! Bors, Lot and Ward, you three charge the castle, just keep going as fast as you can, hit anything you can hit, and we'll clean up after you! Everyone else, clean up after them! Ellen and Guinevere, come with me!" Mark barked. "Oh, and Merlinus, just try to stay nearby."

Everyone hurriedly began to carry out their respective orders. Marcus and Lance rode around the Western end of Castle Araphen, heading North, to secure a village. Alan rode along the Southern side of the castle, killing one, and severely injuring another Fighter. Thany swooped down and picked him off, and they both continued, arriving at a village and speaking with the inhabitants.

Meanwhile, Ward and Lot, the Fighters, cut down two soldiers guarding the front of the castle, while Bors stabbed two more just inside the castle, not even skipping a beat. The Fighters caught up with Bors as he cut another soldier down, and they all charged forward. Bors' lance hit two soldiers in one thrust, injuring them greatly. Ward and Lot both swung wildly, hitting two and three soldiers at a time, moving forward all the time.

Roy and Dieck finished off all those who were unlucky enough to survive the wrath of the axemen and the knight. In one such instance, one of the Fighters missed, but paid it no mind and continued. The soldier ran towards Roy, and thrust his lance, cutting through his upper chest with a sickening sound.

"Ellen, go take care of Roy's injury," Mark instructed, as Dieck beheaded the unfortunate soldier

Ellen nodded.

"Dieck! Can you make up for Roy's absence?" Mark called.

"I don't know, but I can try!" he called back.

Mark turned back to Ellen, who was in the process of healing Roy's wound.

"So, is he going to be okay?"

"I think so, but he won't be conscious for a few hours."

"...Crap."

_~Throne Room~_

"Narshen!" Zephiel barked. "What is causing all that noise?!"

"Probably what's left of the enemy are trying to put up a fight," Narshen replied, chuckling slightly.

"Your Highness," spoke up an until now silent girl, "shall we use the dragons?"

"No, I do not wish to put the Dark Priestess through any trouble," Narshen hurriedly replied. "Do not worry. We can handle them ourselves..."

"Not this time, Idoun. Send the Dragons back to Bern as planned," Zephiel replied.

"Yes. If his Highness wishes it, it shall be so."

"I will be off to Bern as well. Narshen, I'm going to leave Lycia up to you."

"...What shall I do with the remaining forces of the Lycia Alliance Army?"

"Kill all those who stand against us."

A malicious smile crept over his lips, and he asked, "Does that include women and children?"

"Of course. Annihilate them so that they would no longer even think about going against us."

"Leave that to me sire," he replied, chuckling.

Zephiel and Idoun left the Castle, most likely for Bern.

"Hmph. I wonder what his majesty sees in that Idoun girl..." Narshen muttered to himself. He shrugged and turned to a Knight. "Slater, I'm leaving this castle up to you."

"Are you leaving?"

"Yes. One of the Dukes who turned against Lycia has a special gift for me. He says it's a girl from Etrurian nobility of something." He chuckled again.

"From Etruria? She must be very beautiful then."

"Yes. The Duke tells me she's still young, but very beautiful."

"I would be looking forward to it if I were you, sir. Please, be careful on your way there."

"You be careful too, Slater. Don't you dare get defeated by the remainders of the Lycia Alliance Army. If you do, I will personally tear you apart."

"Have mercy, sir!"

This time, Narshen cackled. Still laughing, he mounted his Wyvern, and flew off in the general direction of Laus, eight Cavaliers appearing in his stead. Said Cavaliers charged into the Castle, eager to engage their enemy.

_~Somewhere in Castle Araphen~_

After Ellen had healed Roy as best she could, Mark had ripped off a bit of his outermost layer of clothing, that being his green cloak, and bandaged Roy up. He had then proceeded to lift Roy up, bridal style, and follow the group.

Dieck had taken care of the leftovers of Bors and Lot, mostly because Ward's wild swinging beheaded anyone who got close enough to it.

That had worked for about fifteen enemies, until about three managed to get through, and, though they were wounded, they were also able to run and stab with their lances.

Thankfully, before their lances skewered Dieck, Thany and Marcus flew and rode in, swiftly beheading two of the three, the third one being struck by a Javelin, courtesy of Lance.

Alan soon followed, an Iron Lance in hand.

"Master Roy!" the Cavaliers and Marcus cried. They began to dismount, but Mark was too quick.

"No dismounting in battle. He's fine. I've got him taken care of." They hesitently got back on their saddles, as Mark continued. "I hear horse hooves, so I assume they have cavalry. Since those things can ride circles around our slow fighters, you four are going to take care of them. Lance, give Thany a Javelin or two. Thany, stay as high as you can. Marcus leads. Now go," Mark coldly commanded, pointing in the direction of the main fight.

The horsemen trotted off towards the source of the horse hooves, ready to skewer anything in their path. Thany rode her Pegasus so high, that each time it flapped it's wings, they brushed the ceiling.

Bors spun his lance before stabbing a soldier right through his head.

Ward and Lot each slew another soldier, before eight cavaliers rode in, each armed with a sword or a stock of Javelins.

A Javelin flew through the air, striking it's target's right arm. The Cavalier screamed in pain, dropping his sword, and falling off his mount, which proceeded to stop in place. That place being exactly where another Cavalier needed to ride. Said Cavalier panicked, and tried to jump over the horse.

He failed. Let's just leave it at that. During this display, two other Cavaliers had been slain thanks to the mutual efforts of Wolt's bow, Dieck's sword, and Bors' lance.

Ward was chasing a Cavalier, who continually threw Javelins from a seemingly endless stock at him. Needless to say, Lot's axe took care of that.

However, this left three Cavaliers unattended for at least ten seconds. What can three cavaliers do to a Priestess, a Tactician, A Princess, and an Unconscious Lycian Noble in ten seconds?

Well, after catching sight of the Princess, they would stop and think about how she ended up with the enemy. During this period of immense thought, a Javelin would hit one through the head, bringing the other two out of their respective reveries, just in time to be sniped and cleaved by a blond-haired archer and two axefighters.

It was after these Cavaliers were dispensed, and the group had continued walking or riding, or even flying in one case, that there was a fork in the castle. One way lead to who knows where, down a long corridor, and the other lead to the Throne Room.

"Cavalry, head down that hall, destroy an enemy you meet. Chad, join them. I know that Lockpick is not just for show."

The Cavaliers and Chad all headed down the hall, leaving Dieck, Roy, Ellen, Guinevere, Wolt, Thany, Merlinus, Lot, Ward, and Bors, and Mark.

Dieck charge the Throne Room, annihilating the two Fighters who were guarding the leader. He was a Knight, with red armor, blue hair and eyes, with a stock of twenty Javelins.

Ward charged in, dodging the Knight's initial thrust, and countering with a powerful swing down onto his left shoulder. The axe cut through the plate like a warm knife through butter, digging into the shoulder, ripping muscle and bone. The Fighter retrieved the now bloodied axe, and Bors finished him off with a lance-to-the-chest.

The group, in their now captured Castle, searched said Castle for any and all blue-haired army-leaders with odd noses. A half hour later, they found Hector in the dungeon, and brought him up to the Throne Room, where Mark was there to see him. By the time he was in, Ellen was in the middle of healing him

"Wow, Hector. I haven't seen you this beaten and bloody since the last time I saw you."

Hector's eyes flew open. He recognized that voice. He'd heard it yell at him a thousand times over. He gave a slight chuckle, though it ended up in a coughing fit. "Where's--"

"Roy? Unconscious. I would've taken more care to keep him up to see you had I known you'd be in this bad of shape. So... what happened?" Mark asked, his tone grave.

"I was taken by surprise... I never would have guessed that Bern had resurrected the Dragons...!"

"The same ones from the Scouring, right?"

"Yes. The very ones that the Eight heroes defeated."

"How?"

"I have no idea, but... The Dragons had control over the land of modern-day Bern... Maybe the answer... lies in Bern itself."

"Mark... Go to Ostia! You must lead what is left of the Lycia Alliance Army... with Roy... In Ostia... there are the sacred weapons... Lilina knows... And please, take care of her as well... She may... seem strong, but she needs support..." he trailed off, closing his eyes. "Lilina, just... one more... time..."

Mark stared at Hector's corpse. He thought of the days when they had battled Nergal. He remembered one detail that he had witnessed himself. "Hector... the curse of Armads has finally caught up to you..." Mark said, a few tears dripping down his cheeks. "I wish... I wish you could have lived a little longer... I'm sorry... Hector..."

---

I don't like having Hector die, but I'm not creative enough to think about what the story would be like if Hector survived.

Anyway, if anyone reading has played FE 6, then you'll know that not half as many enemies were in that chapter, in comparison to mine. Well, my thinking on that was, would Castle Araphen _seriously _be left with just twenty or thirty soldiers? The answer: No.


	4. Collapse of the Alliance

Okay, before you read the next chapter, I would like to explain something about last chapter: The curse of Armads. I recently finished a playthrough of Hector's story in FE 7, and when he got Armads, if you'll all remember, he was cursed to die in the battlefield. So, that being one of the last times Mark saw Hector, it was one of the most memorable. So, when he died, Mark mentioned that.

Also, I want to apologize for how long it's taken me to get this chapter out. I had a busy Spring Break, and I have Track Practice which thoroughly drains me of energy. But still, I should have gotten this out sooner. So, sorry.

On with the Chapter!

---

Chapter 4: Collapse of the Alliance!

---

Mark rubbed his eyes, scarcely stifling a yawn. This was mainly due to the fact that he had not slept the previous night, namely because he was taking care of Hector's burial, but also because of his gentlemanliness, he had volunteered to watch Roy for Ellen.

All night. And the _one_ time he dozed off, Roy had immediately woken him up. However, Mark had only himself to thank for that.

Roy had awoken that morning, possibly because of Ellen and Mark's combined snoring. However, his awakening was not a pleasant one.Upon his awakening, Roy had assaulted Mark with a wide variety of questions, ranging from what happened after he had gone unconscious, to the whereabouts of Hector.

Mark had chosen to answer the most important question first. Roy had fallen silent upon hearing this news. His mouth had closed, and Mark had left at his first tear, in an attempt to save himself the pain of witnessing someone _else_ accept Hector's death, perhaps even taking it harder than he had.

Mark had subsequently lain on a log in front of the fire, absorbing the heat from the last cinders, only to return to the tent a half hour later to find Roy asleep, with a very wet pillow.

He would have to write to Eliwood or visit him soon, or something.

_~En Route to Laus~_

Mark took out his notebook, and scribbled down a few notes of the most recent turn in the journey.

_Lord Hector of Ostia, has died, fighting Bern to his last breath. Respecting his final wishes, we're heading to Ostia to lead the Lycia Alliance Army. On the way there, we're going to pass through the Laus Territory, Governed by Duke Eric. I hope I get to meet him on better terms than last time... _Mark added as a side note.

Mark closed the book, and looked forward. "Hey, look, it's Castle Laus," Mark said, pointing to a small dot on the horizon, some miles away. He half-smiled, thinking dreamily of the warm bed that awaited him. He would cherish it, if only for a night.

_~Castle Laus~_

"Ah, Sir Narshen," a brown-haired man in mustard armor greeted a newly entered man.

The Dragon Lord inclined his head slightly at the Marquess.

"Lord Eric, I have not yet praised you for your wise decision of turning against Lycia."

"There is no future for us if we are chained down by old, moldy traditions, sir," the Marquess replied.

"That is a wise way of thinking. Now," Narshen began, a sadistic smile coming over his face, "where is that gift you promised me? She does not seem to be here."

"Ah, yes! I have prepared her in a separate room. She is a naive girl you see. When I told her I would let her meet her brother, she came right along with us." He turned to a soldier. "You, there! Bring her to us!" he barked at the poor man. He meekly nodded.

The soldier left, soon reappearing with a a blond-haired girl behind him. She wore a white dress, with a pink collar, and she strutted into the room, an annoyed look plastered onto her face.

"What is this room? Where is my brother, Klein?"

"Welcome, Lady Clarine," Narshen greeted her, his sadistic smile still wide on his face.

"And who are you?" she asked, perturbed at the amount of time it seemed to be taking for her to see her brother.

"I am Narshen, one of Bern's three Dragon Lords. My Lady, I shall play with you instead of your brother." He approached her, laughing darkly.

She, in turn, laughed loudly and mockingly.

His smile disappeared, replaced with a puzzled look. "What is so amusing, my lady?"

"You? Instead of my brother? Take a good look in the mirror. Your clothing... your hair... your speech... Every aspect of you lacks finesse," she replied, somewhat matter-of-factly.

Narshen took a moment to analyze what exactly the girl had said, before finally, the information sunk in. A vein just above his left eye throbbed. "Me?! Lacking finesse?!" he finally cried.

"Comparing you to my brother is like comparing a turkey to a peacock!" Clarine retaliated.

He shook with rage. "You! You, vermin! Saying that I lack finesse of all things?! You will--"

Narshen's rant was interrupted by a soldier entering the room."Sir Narshen, I have just received a report that Castle Araphen has been retaken by the enemy!"

"What happened to Slater?!" he cried, the rage caused by Clarine only adding to his enraged reply to the most recent news.

"Er, his whereabouts are unknown, sir," the soldier replied, backing away a few steps.

"Who did this?!"

"The enemy has been reported as Roy, the son of the Duke of Pherae. But..."

"But what?!" Narshen screamed, advancing on the soldier.

"Another man was there with him."

"Who?!"

"Well, sir, he's been reported as Mark, the tactician."

Narshen thought for a moment, before he realized who exactly he was dealing with. His rage once again flared.

"Damn! Lord Eric, lock up the girl! I shall have much 'fun' with her when I return!" He turned to a soldier. "You! Close down the main road to Ostia! Roy might pass by!" he commanded to a nearby soldier, as he made a swift exit.

"Yes sir!"

Roughly fifty soldiers exited the Castle, taking up defensive formation around the Castle and surrounding villages.

_~Near Castle Laus, across the eastern river~_

"So, this is Laus, eh? It looks different from the last time I was here..." Mark muttered. "The river is bigger... And that village wasn't there... And.... Aw damn," he abrutly said, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"What?" Roy asked, tilting his head slightly.

"One thing hasn't changed, apparently. Out of the now two times that I have come to Laus, I have been greeted with a small army of soldiers," Mark replied, gesturing across the river, to a small army of Cavaliers, foot-soldiers and archers.

"Everyone, prepare for battle!" Mark called, leaving Roy behind.

"Hey, what do I do?"

"Eh? Who are you?"

"I'm Lugh! I'm a Mage."

"When did you get here?"

"I joined you guys when retook Castle Araphen."

"Oh," was Mark's simple reply. He scratched his hair, a thoughtful look on his face. "Well, get behind Roy. I assume you know how to fight?"

"Of course I do!" Lugh replied, a little indignantly.

"Good, now do whatever we say, and you'll live."

Lugh turned towards Roy, but stopped, Mark's words sinking in.

"What?"

_~After the Battle~_

Mark snickered for a moment in the newly captured castle, as Merlinus spoke to Roy.

Mark walked towards the two, still snickering. "What's the word?" he asked Merlinus, who had left Roy in his direction.

"Master Roy has instructed us to get some rest."

"Ah, of course," Mark said, nodding to Merlinus, and motioning for him to keep walking. Mark, on the other hand, walked towards Roy. "Wow. Laus really has not been a great help to Lycia, huh?" Mark asked sarcastically.

"Yes... I would never have guessed that Lord Eric would turn against us to Bern's side. I thought the members of the Lycia Alliance had a strong bonding to each other. Da--"

Mark chuckled, interrupting Roy's would-be-rant.

"What's so funny?" Roy asked.

"Laus. Ever since I've been a tactician here, Laus has always been the most rebellious. They were a _huge_ pain back when I was the tactician for Eliwood. They were one of the biggest problems we dealt with. However, we did learn a few major things during the clashes we had with them. But now, I suppose, is not the time to talk about that. Please, continue," Mark said. Roy was silent.

Guinevere, seeing the opportune moment, spoke up. "Roy... Are you alright?"

"I guess so... It's just... Bern. Playing dirty like this..."

There was a silence between the two, during which, Guinevere looked sadly downward.

Mark coughed. "RoyyouhurtGuinevere'sfeelingsapologize." He cleared his throat.

"Oh! I'm sorry! I wasn't even thinking about your feelings..."

"Oh nice..." Mark muttered, quickly leaving the conversation, in favor of a more "interesting" group.

He approached the newly recruited Mymridon, and, conveniently, the Troubadour was next to him, possibly, as far as Mark could tell, chastising him.

"Er, excuse me?" Mark interrupted the Troubadour in the middle of another chastisement.

the Troubadour turned to him immediately (and with some ferocity) and looked him over. "Are you Etrurian?"

Mark flinched. "No. Not at all. I'm, uh, Ilian. Yeah. That's it. I'm Ilian."

"Hmph. Well, why are you here?"

"Well, I'm the tactician for this group, and I just thought I would speak with you two. You're both very skilled at what you do. What are your names?"

"I am Clarine."

Mark felt a strange sense of nostalgia. He knew that name. And she looked very familiar. But he pushed it out of his mind almost as quickly as it had entered, deciding to ponder it later.

He turned to the Myrmidon who was silent.

A few seconds passed. Mark watched the Myrmidon. The Myrmidon glared at Mark.

"Rutger," he finally replied.

"Alright, Roy is the leader of everyone, so, unless we're on the battlefield, do whatever he says. If we're on the battlefield, listen to him, but my orders are more important. Right now, we've been told to relax and sleep until tomorrow. Ask the guy in blue for where you should sleep. If you need anything, ask him or Roy, okay?"

"Hmph!" Clarine replied.

Rutger left before Clarine had "Hmph"'ed.

Clarine followed him, practically shouting at him.

This display was mainly ignored by the rest of the less-than-merry band, who were too busy dragging there weapon(s) to and up the stairs.

Mark yawned and walked to Roy, patted him on the back, and walked to whichever room he had chosen, for his one, relaxing night in a nice bed.

He _would_ cherish it, and no one would stop him.

---

And finally, I have decided to refer to all the Lycian nobles as "Marquess" from now on. Although FE 6 calls them "Dukes", I played FE 7 first, and the most recent edition takes precedence over the previous, so Marquess it is!


	5. Fire Emblem

Okay, I don't know if I'm good at battles or not. So, I've put up a poll that asks if I should do them or not. I'll leave it up until I start the next chapter. Based on the results, I'll continue doing battles or I won't. Simple.

Also, I'll be using the metric system of measuring from now on, rather than the Customary style, because more people use metrics.

Oh, and, with this chapter, I've reached the ten-thousand word mark!

---

Chapter 5: Fire Emblem

---

Mark's shoulders sagged. He missed his nice, warm, big, luxurious bed. He had enjoyed his night, but now wished, more than ever, for another bed.

Nonetheless, he still drearily withdrew his notebook and scribbled a few words down, shut it, and continued forward.

Were someone able to read it, the entry would say this:

_Eric, the Marquess of Laus, had been working with Bern, against his allies of Lycia. Heading for Ostia, we're going through the mountains, a path people seldom travel, to avoid unnecessary trouble._

They were traveling through the mountains. Sure they were going through a mountain path, but it was still bumpy and uncomfortable. Mark could walk until the day was long gone, but that did not change the fact that he was bored, and wished terribly for the chance to once again sleep.

"Roy, how much further until—"

"No." Roy's thoughts had been repeatedly interrupted by Mark, which had thusly lead him to wonder about Mark. Specifically, however, his age. He was at least thirty, being the Tactician of Eliwood, his father, would have to make him at least that old. But still... he didn't even look twenty, and he certainly didn't act like it either. Roy would quite possibly have come to a conclusion, had Merlinus not interrupted him.

"Master Roy, a villager is here to see you." The villager pushed himself past Merlinus. "Hey, you, wait a minute..."

Mark entered the conversation, standing to the left of Roy.

"Oh! Are you Roy? From the Pherae family?" the villager asked, beaming.

"No, actually, I'm not. I'm his Tactician," Mark answered.

Roy shot him a glare, and turned back to the villager. "Yes. How may I help you?"

"Sir! We wish for you to defeat the bandits here!"

"Pretty straightforward. Let's do it," Mark answered.

"Bandits?" Roy replied, ignoring Mark entirely.

"There's a pack of bandits that've made there base in the old castle over there," the villager said, motioning with his hand toward a large castle to the West, over the mountains.

"Where are the castle guards?"

"Who cares?"

"They fled once they heard that Lycia had lost to Bern... We villagers were left behind. We spend our days in fear of bandit attacks."

"I will go get everyone ready," Mark said, leaving Roy and company for the 'army'.

"We have no one else to turn to... Please help us!"

"Master Roy, we must keep our pace towards Ostia..." Merlinus said.

"I know! But we can't just ignore people in need of help!"

"So you will help us!? Thank you! Please, make use of the gate. It will put you right next to the castle."

"Okay."

"I will go and make arrangements for the gate to be opened!"

"Wait!" Mark called to the surprisingly fast old man. He sighed. "Alright, then, that will yield a change in plans, but... Rutger! Clarine! Take the rear and watch for bandits!"

_~Bandit Castle~_

"Boss! Our guys that went down to the village just got back!

The Boss turned to the Bandit that had addressed him and smiled in satisfaction. "Alright. Let's go on our usual visit back to the village and gather up the loot."

"Yeah, but Boss, we might got a problem. There's an army stationed real close to us! They look like Lycia's troops."

"Lycia?" he laughed. "Then they won't be a problem. They gotta be the remainders of the army that got destroyed by Bern. We can beat 'em," the bandit leader said, smirking maliciously.

"Oh yeah, Boss!"

"Well, we still gotta take our precautions. Maybe we can rake up some loot from them too! Alright, boys, let's take 'em on!"

_~Mid-battle~_

"This army reminds me so much of the last one I commanded," Mark said, almost smiling.

"How?"

"Well, Roy is similar to his father, whom I commanded. As well--"

"Mark!" a voice called from the front, approximately five meters ahead.

"What is it?" Mark replied, a little perturbed at his subordinates lack of ability to do anything on there own. _Honestly_, he thought, _why can't they just be a little more independent...? Perhaps I can teach them a bit of that tonight, provided this battle doesn't run too long._

"Two people are—argh!" the man paused to slice a bandit in two. "Two people have come to join us! I believe they serve the Elimine—Arrr!"

"Send them to me, then."

A priest approached him, from the front. He had purple hair and purple eyes. He also wore the traditional white Priests' Robe, with a blue coat under it, and a red sash, signifying his rank in the hierarchy of the Elimine Church. Behind him walked an archer. She had light, light brown hair, with a light brown shirt and darker brown breastplate, as well as a dark brown short skirt over brown pants. Her quiver was strung around her waist, full of arrows.

Mark raised an eyebrow at them.

"So you are lord Roy?" the Priest asked.

"And if I am?"

"Is Princess Guinevere with you?"

"And if she is?"

"Then we would join you," the priest said.

"Then no, and yes. I'm his tactician, and Guinevere is with us. What are your names?"

"I am Dorothy, and this is Saul, a priest of the Elimine church."

"Saul, please, go over there to the other healer, her name is Ellen. Dorothy, you may follow him, or join the other Archer, Wolt, if you wish."

She nodded, and walked off with Saul.

Mark smiled. His plan was working well. Wolt was launching arrows from a safe distance, while the sword-wielders were fending off the front line of bandits. Occasionally, Lance, Alan and Marcus would charge the line and thin out the bandit ranks.

A loud roar sounded behind Mark. He spun to see ten bandits charging at the group, axes at the ready.

"Shit!" Mark muttered. "Dieck! Lance! Wolt!" he called. They all turned, spotting the bandits. "Stop them!" Mark called. As they charged, Mark noticed the other ten bandits, barreling down the mountain.

Everything went slow-motion. Mark stared at the assaulting bandits, as they descended down to the mountains.

He turned. "Dorothy!" he yelled, his slow voice distorted. "Snipe the bandits!" She spotted them, and nodded, beginning to run towards them, nocking an arrow. She launched it, nocking two more in it's stead. Mark called to the advancing fighters. "Look out for the bandits on the mountains!" he cried. A shreek caused him to turn from the present situation, to find a fallen Roy with a small puddle of blood around him at the front.

"Roy!" Mark called. "Ellen, Saul, heal Roy!" They ran, still in slow-motion, to Roy. "Keep up the front line!" he called.

_~After the battle~_

Mark stood in the doorway to one of the many bedrooms of the Castle. The Healers had moved Roy to the castle, with the help of Lot, one of the axefighters, as soon as he had been healed enough to be moved. Lance, too, had been injured, and was being tended to by the others with medicinal herbs.

Mark left the room, not able to bear the sight of his failure any longer. As he exited, he found Saul speaking with Guinevere, and knew that she should be attended.

"How did you know that?!" she asked, shocked.

"The head of the Church in Bern informed us that the Fire Emblem had mysteriously disappeared from the Temple of Seals. They also informed me that you left at exactly the same time."

Mark smiled. Guinevere was silent.

Saul continued, "I was sent by the Church to confirm the truth. Why did you take the Fire Emblem?"

"I wished to stop my brother."

"Your brother... Zephiel, the King of Bern," he replied.

"Yes."

"Do you know what the Fire Emblem is used for?"

"The Fire Emblem is the key that is used to awaken the mighty weapon that was used to slay dragons in the past. Or that was what my father told me. But I'm unsure about how exactly either of them work. But the possibility of the Fire Emblem falling into enemy hands worried my brother... a lot."

"So you took the Fire Emblem, hoping that if he lost it, he would stop his conquest?" Mark asked.

"Yes. But I failed, and war broke out anyway."

"As a representative of the Elimine Church, I wish to ask you this: What do you plan to do from here?"

"Must I answer at this moment?"

"Ah, so your Highness has a plan?" Saul asked.

"Yes. I have not yet given up on the thought of settling this war without bloodshed."

"I see. In that case, please allow me to accompany you on your journey."

"You're already—"

"Princess Guinevere?"

"Yes."

_'Another person... Another chance for loss...'_ Mark thought. He clenched his fists, and left. He entered a room, an empty room, a quiet room.

After a time, Ellen came in.

"Master Mark?"

"Yes?"

"Master Roy will be okay," she said. "He will make a full recovery."

"That's nice to here..." Mark said, not moving his head.

"What's wrong?" she inquired.

"I failed. My mission is to command everyone in this group without letting any of them become as wounded as Roy. This is not how it's supposed to happen."

"Master Mark! You're fighting against Bern, the country with the strongest military in Elibe! Pardon my saying, but you shouldn't let one loss get the best of you!"

"You don't get it!" he said, his head jolting up. "He's been wounded like this twice. And he's the leader. Without him, the entire Lycia Alliance would collapse! Don't you see?! He is the hope—the only hope—that Lycia has for victory! If he dies, then Bern wins! It's as simple as that."

She looked down and almost spoke up, but stopped herself and left the room, leaving Mark behind. He regained his old position. "Hector... Lyndis... And Eliwood, you're soon to go as well. I can't lose you too. Not yet. Roy can't lose you either... But you're going, aren't you... I know..."

---

Sorry about how long it took to get this chapter out. I just haven't been really inspired. But if someone were to review... *wink, wink*...

And, oops! I accidentally put an updated version of chapter one in place of this chapter for a few hours. I want to apologize to everyone for that. Sorry! It won't happen again!


	6. Traps

My poll, mentioned in the previous chapter, ended in a tie, so I've decided to only do important parts, like recruitments, and boss killings.

---

Chapter 6: Traps

---

Mark had not been quite so energetic since the group had left for Thria, and he had made a point of avoiding Roy and, for reasons unknown to all but the two involved, Ellen.

He seldom spoke to either of them, and, because he rarely spoke to anyone else in his merry little band, it appeared as though he was avoiding them all. He always walked far to the front or far to the back, not speaking in random outbursts, or attempting to force people to carry his various layers of cloaks.

Upon reaching the Thria border, the castle of Lord Orun coming into sight, Mark opened his book and summarized the events of past, lacking the tact and finesse he so often exhibited when writing his entries.

_Received Saul and Dorothy, Priest and Archer, respectively. Heading to Thria to Lord Orun's for night._

They entered into the castle, laxly, Roy at the head, Merlinus close by, and Mark a few feet behind them both.

A figure approached them.

_-Several minutes prior-_

_He wore purple robes, those of a practitioner of elder magic. A golden amulet, with a ruby in the middle, was secured to his hood by a gilded string. His hood fell just above his eyes, concealing them from view. A cruel, callous smile found itself on his lips, stretching his skin taught over his bony features._

"_I trust everything is under control," he said, his voice croaking as he slowly spoke._

"_Yes, our soldiers are positioned all around the castle, both at the gate and in the halls."_

"_Lead them into the castle and ambush them."_

"_Yes, sire." The soldier turned to leave, but the voice spoke up once again._

"_I want the Princess alive. As for the rest, you may do with them as you please. Now leave me," he said. As the soldier exited, a low laugh escape from his mouth, his dark smile returning to his face. "The Silver Wolf's granddaughter... and now the Princess of Bern... With this much, Bern will be sure to allow us to join them..."_

_He left the room, closing the door with a click. _

_Out of the shadows, a new figure emerged. Her hair was orange, matching her eyes. A lime green hair tie gave her a short ponytail. A sea-foam green scarf wound its' way around her neck, covering the collar of a white dress that ended just short of her knees, green leggings reaching just below them. A sheathed knife was tied to a her brown belt._

"_Hm, now this is getting interesting," she muttered to herself._

_-A few moments later-_

"Well, for once we can get a good nights sleep, Master Roy!" Merlinus cheerfully said to Roy.

"I wonder... That man said he was Lord Orun's advisor..."

"Who, Wagner? Does he bother you?"

"It seemed like he was in control of it all. Almost like _he_ was the master of the castle. And we can't even go near Lord Orun because he's ill? Something just seems wrong."

"Come to think of it, you may have a point, Master Roy," Merlinus replied.

Were Mark a bit more energetic, a sarcastic remark might have found its' way into the conversation, though since he wasn't, it was not so. Instead, he just leaned on a wall a few feet from Roy and Merlinus, listening only a bit to the conversation.

"What do you think, Mark?" Roy asked.

Mark looked up, as he had been staring at his feet, and opened his mouth.

"Excuse me, Master Roy, and pardon me, Master Mark, but if I may add something into this cheerful conversation, I would like to note that there are an awful lot of soldiers patrolling the area," Saul said, nonchalantly gesturing to all the soldiers around them.

"I think we're being spied on," the Archer, Dorothy, added, nocking an arrow.

"What? No..." Roy said, turning to the shadow Dorothy was staring at.

"You noticed?" the shadow asked. "Impressive."

"Show yourself!" Roy commanded, his hand gunning to his Rapier.

"Hi!" A young, orange-haired girl emerged from the shadow, waving a small wave at Roy and company.

"And... Who might you be?" Roy asked, eyebrows raised.

"Aw," she began, shying away from him, like she was embarrassed, "we can talk about that later. I, uh, overheard that Wagner guy in the main hall, talking about attacking you guys."

"Lord Orun wouldn't ever do that!"

"Oh yeah. That person's dead. Uh, Wagner killed him," she said.

"What?!" Roy cried.

"And he's going to capture and turn you in to Bern, in exchange for safety."

Roy was flabbergasted. "Wait, Master Roy! We should not trust random people so willingly," Merlnius said, eyes narrowing as he did.

She shrugged. "You can believe me or you can't. Your choice. But don't come crying to me when you find yourselves in trouble!"

Guinevere, up until then silent and unnoticed, piped up. "Roy," she said quietly, "if what she ways is the truth..."

Roy looked intently at the Thief. She stared blankly at him.

"Okay," he finally said, "We'll set up a trap. We'll say we're leaving, and if he attacks us then we have our answer."

"If you're gonna go outside, go through the North door. It leads to the courtyard, so you can be out of here in no time. Good luck," she said, exiting through the south door, silently.

"Okay, let's go," Roy said, walking to the door at the north side of the room and entering, everyone filing in behind him, Mark at the rear.

They arrived at the courtyard, and proceeded to leave. Wagner walked hurriedly up to them. "Oh, Master Roy! Where are you going? We will escort you to your rooms, if you just come this way," he said, working hard to keep a smile on his face, and talk kindly.

Roy put on a convincing look of apology. "My apologies, sir, but we just received a report on a matter of the utmost importance, and must leave immediately."

Wagner bit his tongue inside his mouth, releasing his grip in a sad attempt to convince Roy to stay. "Oh... But I surely cannot see you off without paying my respects and offering you a place to stay! Lord Orun would never forgive me! Please, Master Roy, will you not just spend one night with us?"

"Do not worry, for I shall inform Lord Orun that you are not to blame at a later time. Speaking of Lord Orun, I think we ought to pay our respects to him before we leave. Would you please show us to his room?"

"As I previously told you, he is sick and cannot see anyone at this time."

"I am once again sorry, sir, but if we cannot see him, then there is no reason for us to stay. We are in a hurry. Excuse us, but we must be off," Roy said, turning and beginning to walk away, the others following.

"You are leaving... no matter what?"

Roy simply continued, as if he hadn't heard the man.

"Then you must die now! Everyone! Attack! Kill them all, but leave the Princess alive!"

Roy cursed, unsheathing his blade. "So they were after us!"

"Roy," Mark said stoically, "We must fight them here and now. Breaking through the guards at the gate would give the main group enough time to reach and attack us."

"Then we shall take the castle!"

"Bors. Marcus. Hold the advance of enemy units in the courtyard. Lance and Alan, hold the hallways. Lot, Ward and Dieck, stop the guards at the gate from striking us from behind. Dorothy, Wolt and Lugh, attack the enemies that approach Bors and Marcus. Everyone else, await further orders."

_-Throne Room-_

Wagner stood in front of the throne, surrounded on all sides. Roy stood several meters in front of him, Mark diagonally behind him. The others stood around Wagner, poised to strike.

Wagner made the first move, black energy flowing between his hands. They flew up in the air, a black sphere appearing over his head. It seemed to drip down into the ground, disappearing under the floor.

"Rutger, strike!" Mark commanded the Myrmidon.

It happened fast. Rutger sprinted at Wagner, flipping in the air once, and disappearing. The sphere came up in front of Wagner, just as the Myrmidon appeared. The Killing Edge he held was sucked into the void, Rutger barely holding his position.

It began to dissipate, the Myrmidon pulling himself free from its' gravity and sprinting away.

It shrunk in size, disappearing from view, revealing to Wagner his death. A sky blue color filled his vision, blurring as he felt sharp pain in his stomach.

The sword protruded from Wagner's back, red and dripping with blood. Roy withdrew the bloodied sword, Wagner uttering out a few final words, "No... My plan... was flawless..." He fell forward, onto the wooden floor, at Roy's feet.

_-Later-_

The maids, locked up in the dungeon, had been released and began cleaning the blood, and, with the help of Roy and friends, disposed of the bodies, providing them all burials.

Afterwards, Roy, Mark, Merlinus and Chad had begun to unlock the rooms, one by one, clearing out any prisoners, and at Chad's discretion, treasure.

In one such instance, a door opened, revealing a young girl. She had dark green hair, with a red headband over her forehead. And, as Mark noticed, she wore the red robes of a Sacaen, the zigzag patterns all too familiar to him. They had short sleeves, and red pants that tucked into her boots. She had fingerless gloves on both hands, and one was tied to a bracer.

Mark tilted his head in confusion at her. He recognized her, but couldn't quite identify the time and place he had seen her.

_-Moments Later-_

"So you're the granddaughter of the leader of one of the clans in Sacae, Sue?" Roy asked.

"Yes. Grandpa is the strongest warrior in Sacae. People call him 'The Silver Wolf'," the young girl replied.

"The Silver Wolf... I have heard of him," Roy said.

"So, why are you here in Lycia? And not in, uh, Sacae?" Mark asked.

"Bern invaded Sacae, and we of the Kutolah decided to fight them. But grandpa let the women and children escape to Lycia... But there was a traitor. The Djute Clan decided to join Bern and attacked us."

Mark already knew about that. Before joining up with Roy, he had been following the war in all parts of Elibe quite closely. Though Sacae was by far the least interesting area to him, he still knew some information. The Djute had joined Bern, and, being the strongest clan in Sacae, destroyed most of the other clans. After that, he stopped paying much attention.

"We were all separated. I found my way here, and Lord Orun took me in. But Wagner, his advisor, assassinated Lord Orun and took over the castle..."

"...And locked you up," Roy completed the sentence.

Everyone was silent for a moment. But soon Sue spoke up. "Is your army—" Mark snorted "—fighting against Bern?"

"Yes. Bern has attacked us as well."

"Then please allow me to come with you. Fighting Bern will let me save my grandpa. I also want to avenge Lord Orun," Sue said.

"We're heading for Ostia, which is in the opposite direction of Sacae, but if you still want to come..."

_'Oh, no, now that I know which direction Ostia is, and that it's the opposite direction of a country that has been claimed by a freaking military power, I don't think I'll be able to accompany you anymore. Darn,'_ Mark thought sarcastically, chuckling a bit.

It went unnoticed, and Sue replied. "I don't mind. No matter where we are, our Mother Earth and Father Sky will always be with us."

"Uh, Roy, I'd like to—"

"Master Roy!" Merlinus called.

"Listen to Merlinus babble for a few minuets. Excellent," Mark said, moving to stand on Roy's left.

"Master Roy, the spy I sent to Ostia had returned, and he says that rebels have risen up and taken Castle Ostia," he furiously whispered.

"What?!" Roy cried, all heads present turning to face him.

Mark chuckled again, waving everyone off.

"Is Lilina safe?" he whispered, most of everyone having resumed their conversations.

"The spy said she has been taken hostage by the rebels."

"We have to save her," Roy replied. "We should leave tonight."

"No, we shouldn't," Mark replied quickly.

"The sooner we leave, the sooner we get there," Roy shot back, eliciting a somewhat amused grin from him.

"I will show you my logic," Mark said. "If we leave tonight, with our tired, dirty, weak soldiers, say we make it a third of the way there, give a hard days' ride tomorrow, and we arrive at Ostia in the night. From there, we could either attack then, at night, giving us the element of surprise, though we'd be about to collapse from exhaustion.

"Or, on the other hand, we could wait until the next day or night and attack. Now, this is all assuming that we haven't been found out by sentries around the city. If we did, say get found out, we die. If we fail in our assault due to exhaustion, we die. If we somehow succeed, our still tired and weak soldiers will get crushed when reinforcements arrive, and, guess what, we die. So, by staying here, we'll be rested up overnight, make a two, maybe three day, relaxing journey to Ostia. Strike on our arrival, giving us the element of surprise, no matter at what time, because we would have just arrived and be able to hold it."

Roy was silent. As was Merlinus, as they both just looked at Mark, somewhat shocked by him.

Merlinus finally broke the silence. "Master Roy, I'm afraid I have to agree with Master Mark on this one."

Roy looked down in defeat, replying a scarcely audible "fine."

---

Review!


	7. The Lord of Lucerne

I want to thank everyone who's reviewed up to this point. Thanks. I'm dedicating this chapter to you guys, all four of you. (And to those who haven't please do)

---

Chapter 7: The Lord of Lucerne

---

The room was dark, and felt somewhat humid. He, for a reason he did not know, had been called to this room for an audience with the his Lord

He had waited for several hours, at first reluctant to lean on the walls in his white royal clothes. But he had become tired and bored, and eventually elected to lean on it, grimacing as he felt an unknown substance rub on his clothes.

The doors had finally opened, light invading the room. He covered his eyes, spreading his fingers a bit to sight a large figure, the light bathing his regal purple cloak, and showcasing his short blond hair. A much smaller, shorter figure stood next to him. The light seemed to retreat from the figure's purple cloak, the shadow it cast seeming darker.

He recognized them immediately, and swallowed the lump that had built up in his throat. The pair that stood before him, were none other than The King of Bern and the Dark Priestess.

"Ah, Lord Waldstein," the King greeted him.

Waldstein bowed low to the King, standing up to find the King much closer. "My Liege, it is good to see you once more, and Lady Idoun as well. May I be informed of my purpose for being summoned here?" he asked.

"Ah, always so eager to do my bidding... So eager for my praise..." At this the King trailed off, staring almost accusingly at the Lord.

"My King, I cannot help but try and please you. Is that not what nobles are to do? Please their King?"

"No, no, it is. I was merely complementing you."

"Then I thank you."

Silence fell over the trio. Lord Waldstein stared at the beams of light that the King's huge figure did not block, watching the small particles dance in the inexistent breeze.

"Why is it," The King finally began, "that you serve me so faithfully, when all others have become doubtful of my reign? You, alone, stand as a stalwart, urging those who do not to support me. Why?"

"Majesty, might I have the answer to a question of my own, in exchange for the answer to this one?"

"Yes, of course," Zephiel replied.

"Thank you. My Lord, you are an intelligent man. You can see through the commonly used answers of the other nobles, so I will answer you honestly. The reason I serve you, is simply because you are the most powerful entity, and you hold, for me, the most promising future."

"But if you were to find a more satisfying entity to serve, a mightier King, and you left me... Switching to my enemies' side..."

"But what of my own satisfaction? They would doubt me, at first, the Lord of Lucerne, stalwart supporter of the King of Bern. Perhaps, they would even go so far as to kill me. And even if I did gain their trust and side with them, I repeat, what of my own satisfaction? I would live in a tent among soldiers. I am a pampered noble, and I would serve you for it until the end."

Zephiel smiled, showing his pointed teeth.

"Ah, I see. I've known many who share the same values you do. You support me, because I give you a grand lifestyle. And here I thought you were simply loyal," Zephiel said, chuckling.

Lord Waldstein chuckled as well. "My Lord, if you could answer my question now..."

Zephiel nodded.

"Well, you see, I would like to know why I have been summoned here, all this way from my land of Lucerne. Would you be so kind as to grant me this knowledge?"

"Ah, yes, of course. As you know, we crushed the Lycia Alliance at their Castle Araphen, which they retook immediately after I left Lycia. Now we have Ostia, the capital. The army which has caused me so much trouble, has moved and begun to recapture it. Do you know who leads it?"

"Yes. The son of the Marquess of Pherae," Lord Waldstein said with evident distaste.

"That is correct, but the man who stands at his right hand, is none other than the famed Tactician Mark."

"But he is said to be one of the most skilled men of his trade, in all of Elibe!"

"True, all true. I myself, have even made bids for his might, sending agents across Elibe for him, though none succeeded. Once he surfaced, even I feared him, however slightly. But lately, you have shown great skill in the art of Tactics, and, with the shear military might of Bern, I believe you can defeat him.

"So I am to go stop his siege, or perhaps retake the castle?" Waldstein asked.

"No, you cannot get to Lycia in time, and as for retaking the castle, that is a mission for a later date and time."

"Then why are you telling me this?"

"I will be visiting Lucerne soon, and I wish for you to accompany me with five of your finest soldiers. You need to be close at hand, for you are a valuable piece. You rival Mark in tactical skill, and you need to be near, to be dispatched at my will. That is why you have been called here. You will return to Lucerne, gather your men, and we shall depart from there."

"I understand, Your Majesty, and I swear to fight with you, till the last."

Zephiel chuckled. "Lord Waldstein, the Lord of Lucerne, and Bern's finest tactician, you will be the hammer that drives your Emperor's will into those that oppose him!"

"Yes, My Lord!" Waldstein saluted.

---

Note that the name "Lucerne" came from a city in Switzerland, the nation of which Bern is the capital of.


	8. Rebellion at Ostia

Um, at some point, Merlinus refers to Hector's story bout dragons. I know Roy wasn't there, but let's all assume that at some point, Merlinus filled him in for what Mark did not.

R&R, people, R&R.

---

Chapter 8: Rebellion at Ostia

---

As Ostia came into sight, Mark clenched his fists.

Some of him was angry, for the Rebels had taken over Ostia, and at such a time. But another part was nervous, an unusual emotion for the otherwise cheery tactician. He had studied just about every plan for sieging a city, but with so few units, and so much resistance... His success was not guaranteed.

"Merlinus, around how many of Ostia's troops, do you think, have joined the Rebellion?" Roy asked, drawing Mark from his negative thoughts.

"Quite a few, I'm afraid. They've forgotten their loyalty to Lord Hector, and are simply flocking to the one will more power, which is Bern. How disgraceful!"

"Amen, brother," Mark said, shutting the book he had just written in.

"I see..." Roy sadly said.

"But there is good news, Master Roy!" Merlinus quickly added. "There is a band of Mercenary Knights from Ilia already fighting Bern and they are willing to join us!"

"From Ilia?" Guinevere asked.

Mark jumped up, taking a deep breath when he realized who it was who had spoken. _'Damn! How in Elimine's name does she just appear like that?'_

"Yes, Princess," Merlinus replied, "they were contracted by Lord Hector to fight Bern."

"That's fortunate," Roy said.

Mark, having recovered from his scare, chuckled at Roy and his impressive ability to point out the obvious.

"But they don't know that Lord Hector is deceased, and when they find out, wouldn't the contract be nullified?" Roy asked.

"Well—" Merlinus began.

"I'll take this one Merly. I think your voice could use a break," Mark quickly said, turning to Roy. "Get this: They already know Hector is dead, and they already offered to fight alongside us!" Mark melodramatically said.

Guinevere once more spoke up, causing Mark to jump, whispering a furious "Dammit!" under his breath.

"Why do they go that far, when they are simply mercenaries?"

"Ilia is a snowy area with a harsh climate so the land isn't very arable. Therefore, sending out mercenaries is one of the main sources of revenue," Merlinus said.

"And, therefore, if they break trust with an employer, they become less credible, and lose business to other companies," Mark said, adding in his own bit of knowledge.

"Well, they should be powerful allies, then," Roy said.

"Yes, Master Roy, that is the spirit! But... I have heard that one of the Three Dragon Lords of Bern is coming here... With a legion of Dragon Knights. If they joins the rebels, then our chances of victory would greatly decrease."

_'Yeah, that's the spirit, Merlinus! Let's think about our imminent death!' _Mark mused,

"What are you going to do, Roy?" Guinevere asked.

"...That Kingdom of Etruria might join us..."

"Etruria?! Why would they do that?" Merlinus inquired.

"General Cecilia, the Sorcery General of Etruria was my teacher in battle arts while I was studying here. I have a feeling she would join us."

"I would object, Master Roy!" Merlinus cried.

"I would not object, but rather fully agree, 'Master Roy'!" Mark mockingly said.

"If we depend on Etruria now, then we will be in their debt for many years to come, and—"

"Yes, I know that," Roy said, cutting Merlinus off. "But if we don't defend Ostia, there will be no Lycia at all. I believe we should go for the safest and most definite option, rather than taking our chances on our own."

"I'll write her a letter soon, and Merlinus, I need you to send it to her as soon as you can."

"... Alright, Master Roy."

"Shall we begin the attack?" Mark asked, not waiting for an answer as they approached the gate.

_-Castle Ostia, Entrance-_

He approached his subordinate royally. His blond hair blew in the breeze, his cape purple following suit. Shining purple armor covered his body, giving the illusion he was slow and heavy.

"Devias," the man addressed his subordinate, "how is the city doing?"

"They've been quiet so far," Devias replied. "But the Mercenary Knights from Ilia are showing no signs of tire or submission."

Leygance scowled. "Hmph! What's wrong with them? We've offered three times the pay..."

"Well," Devias began "Ilia's knights are known to fight for their masters to the death."

"Well, then, we'll make sure that that is enforced. Give them all we have. General Narshen is going to be here soon. If we don't have Ostia under control by then, we'll be a laughing stock. Perhaps we won't receive as much money!"

"O-Of course sir!" Devias shakily replied, backing away from Leygance.

Leygance bit his lip. "We may have to use Lilina as a bargaining chip... If we use her as a hostage, they may surrender... But that is a last resort. We must fight them ourselves with the Dragon Knights from Bern! Devias, clear the city and guard the castle gate. I will defend the inside." Leygance turned and walked back into the castle, leaving Devias to scowl at him.

After he was out of sight, Devias scowled at him. "General Leygance, you always have used your subordinates unwisely, and without tact. Thank Elimine this will be the last time I work under you..."

_-Entrance to Ostia-_

"Okay, everyone, we've breached the gate,! I want Cavalry, Marcus and Alan at the head, as well as Pegasi to rush them! They're unready, so we have the element of surprise! Infantry, Dieck at the front, follow behind and clean up! Chad and Sue, check the residential areas! Go, people, go!" Mark cried as they rushed in, through the City Gate.

Roughly a hundred meters ahead was an arena, over which several Wyverns flew, their riders perched atop them. "Wolt, keep an eye on those Dragon Knights!" Mark called to Wolt, who nodded, before nocking an arrow and firing at a nearby Mercenary.

Mark chewed on his lip. A cavalry rush sounded good to him, now that they had a wide open space, the Ostian main road, to fight on. With Chad and Sue taking care of the residential areas, they could be sure of little to no resistance from those areas. And with units on the ground to finish off everything else on the main road...

Mark felt good about his strategy.

_-Castle Ostia, Entrance, minutes later-_

Devias gave out a low chuckle. "I can only imagine what hell will break loose when the reinforcements arrive..." he said, smiling darkly.

The army was quickly blazing through the town, approaching him with evident haste. The two Dragon Knights were giving them no small amount of trouble, dodging arrows as they repeatedly swooped down and struck the various units.

From all directions of the city, he saw his reinforcements arrive, his smile growing madder by the second. Ten soldiers. Fifteen Cavaliers. Several Mercenaries and Myrmidons, as well as a few healers.

But it, his smile, disappeared the second he saw a Pegasus Knight take to the skies, taking out one of the Dragon Knights with ease.

An arrow sailed through the air, striking the others' mount and bringing it to the ground.

From there it only got worse. The reinforcements were ambushed by two units. Then the Cavalry from the main group came around and crushed them.

Devias gawked. Just the audacity of that attempt alone was enough to strike fear in his heart.

He had heard that the leader of the group was a famed tactician, easily outclassing the majority of any other in his profession.

Was this that man's work?

He was brought back to reality, by the loud creaking of the doors down the steps from him. The outer gate to Castle Ostia creaked open.

Several Cavaliers rode in, followed by a red-haired boy, who was further followed by two archers, one with green hair and one with creamy white.

Suddenly, twelve men exited the Castle, two of them archers with arrows already flying. This had apparently already been noted by the rival side. Before three arrows had been shot by the archers, they were on the ground, bleeding to death, arrows through their skulls.

The others soon followed suit, arrows filling their bodies, a few Javelins mixed in as well.

A figure entered Devias' line of sight. As it approached, he began to pick out its' individual features. A green cloak, messy brown hair, and, as it further approached, he sighted the blue eyes staring intently at him.

"Take him with Javelins," the figure, identified as a man, said, pointing at Devias.

He shook as the Javelins impaled his armor. Devias was pushed into a wall from the sheer force of the Javelins as they cut through his armor and into his body. With all his remaining strength, he threw his Spear with all his strength.

He felt himself hit the wall, the volley finally ending. He fell forward, pushing the Javelins further into his body, and drew his last, jagged breath.

The Spear flew through the air, inches away from Mar's ear, though he simply stood, as if nothing had even happened. Everyone present exhaled tired, but pleased breaths. Mark, regaining his regular demeanor, smiled nervously at them.

"Well, everyone, nice job," he said. Roy moved to enter the Castle. "Everyone, follow us and begin to break down the gate," Mark said as he followed, Merlinus trailing behind.

"Roy," Mark said. Roy turned to face him. "The city should be calming down without the rebels' presence. I say we send a few units away to keep everything calm."

"Who do you recommend?"

"Thany, Wolt, Saul and Dorothy, and... Dieck," Mark said.

"Why so few?"

"With units as tired as we have, we need every ounce of strength we can get. I kept Bors out for the majority of the battle so he'd be fresh."

"Alright," Roy replied, turning to Merlinus. "We need to go and recapture the castle!"

"The gate needs to come down, first. I understand your desire to enter and Save Lady Lilina soon, but we must have the gate broken first."

Roy sighed. "...Lilina..." he muttered.

"Speaking of Lady Lilina," Merlinus said, "what do you think of Lord Hector's story, Master Roy?"

"About the dragons?" Roy asked.

Merlinus nodded.

"They weren't myth... They were real... Lord Hector is one of the greatest battle tacticians in Lycia—" Mark coughed, and proceeded to clear his throat.

Roy glared at him all the while.

After his throat was cleared, Roy continued, "His army was decimated, so quickly..."

"Well, Bern's is the strongest military force in Elibe. I say, those Dragon Knights are fearsome opponents," Merlinus replied.

"Of course Dragon Knights are fearsome, but real dragons... I can't imagine how powerful they must be..." Roy pondered.

Mark casually walked over to Roy. "Well, Roy, I myself have had some experience in Dragon-slaying, myself," Mark said, mock-snootily, "and they are powerful. It took about ten of my old army to defeat one."

Roy, of course, had a vague idea of Mark's dragon-slaying exploits. It was something of a legend, one that Eliwood had told him as a child. How they had beaten the dragon. Though it hadn't been until he was much older that he had heard the majority of the legend. The Dark Druid, the Dragon, the Archsage... It was a tall tale, but Roy knew at least some was true.

"But what about the weapons that are effective against dragons? I wonder what they are..."

"I presume they are the Divine Weapons," Merlinus replied.

"You, my friend, presume correctly. The Divine weapons of the Eight Heroes. Very effective against dragonhide."

"So if we use them, we can effectively defeat dragons?" Roy asked.

"It's about as effective against dragon as you get," Mark replied.

"But I wonder... What is a Divine Weapon doing in Ostia?" Roy pondered, directing it towards Mark.

Mark looked from left to right, as if to find who Roy was speaking to. Finally, he pointed as himself, as if to ask if he was the target of Roy's question.

Roy nodded.

"Oh. Well," he began, turning to the gate. "Oh, wait, the gate it breaking. We'd better go and take the castle. Talk later, battle now," he said, leaving towards the gate.

Roy sighed, Merlinus doing so as well, before they walked towards the gate, which was in the process of falling to the ground.

"Charge!" Roy heard Mark cry from inside the Castle.

---

Alright, folks. This chapter was long, and I plan on getting started on Chapter 9 soon. Apologies for the long wait.

(I will update faster if you review. It is so inspiring to see a review, even if its' just a 'nice chapter' of something to that effect).

And thanks to those who have reviewed thus far.


	9. Reunion

As of the previous chapter, I'd like to say that chapter one has been rewritten. Nothing much has changed, as far as storyline goes, but if you have some time and you're bored...

In reply to the questions of 5-digit, no, Mark cannot fight. He walks around in that cloak all day, sure, but he still isn't very strong. He could wield a weapon, but he would be too slow for combat.

And also, is this story LynxTactician? I'm as much of a supporter of that pairing as the next guy, but I'm not featuring her in this story, until the very end.

Unless I get a better idea...

Review!

---

Chapter 9: Reunion

---

"What?!" The voice cried, echoing through the maze of halls of Castle Ostia. "The enemy has broken into the castle?" it rhetorically asked, much quieter than the first time. "What in Elimine's name was Devias doing out there? Were those Ilian Knights so strong?" he pondered, then gasped. "Or was the Lycian Army stronger than I had anticipated?"

He was silent for a moment, his fists tightly clenched.

"In any case, however, they have breached the unconquerable Castle Ostia! We much drive them out, or face our death..." he trailed off, rage filling his mind. "You, over there!" he finally called.

"Yes, sir, General Leygance, sir!" the soldier walked to him ,saluting.

"Set up the troops in defensive positions in the castle, especially around the Throne Room! We must not allow the Lycian Army to enter this room! At any cost!"

"Understood, sir!" the soldier zealously replied.

The soldier turned to leave, but Leygance grabbed his shoulder. The soldier turned to face him.

"One more thing," he whispered. "Discretely kill the Princess during battle."

"What? Sir, weren't we supposed to keep her alive?"

"I had been planning on using her as a hostage, but now, with so many rebels who admire her, and the pressure put on by the battle, I fear if we do that, some may turn on us and support the Lycian Army."

"But in that case, sir, they would surely turn on us if we killed her!" he quickly whispered in reply.

"I said do it _discretely_, didn't I? Kill her quietly, and pretend the enemy did so. Now go!"

"Yes sir," the soldier said, saluting and hurrying away.

---

They had entered the castle, the 'charge' yelled by Mark having given the enemy soldiers forewarning of their entrance.

Now Mark was busily moving people around, placing them here and there, when a shadow walked up to Roy and tapped him on the shoulder.

Roy spun, cutting the air with his sword. He furrowed his brow, finding his blade had not made contact with anything.

Roy turned, and jumped back, almost screaming at the man who stood before him.

"...General Roy, of the Lycia Alliance Army, I presume?" he asked.

Mark walked over to the pair, taking a moment from his commands. "Ah, my reputation precedes me," he said, sticking out his hand for a shake, "but my name is not Roy, it's actually Mark."

The thief gave him a dark glance, which Mark seemed to catch onto.

Mark looked from the thief, to Roy, muttering an, 'oh'. "You mean second-general Roy, my apologies," he said, turning back to the cavalry, archers and all other units present.

"Who are you?" Roy asked, his sword having long since been sheathed. If the man had wanted to attack them, he would have already.

"My name is Astol. I used to work in Marquess Hector's service."

"Excuse me, but what type of work were you in? You don't look like a typical Ostian servant."

The man chuckled a bit at that, before replying, "My, my, aren't we a little rude, old man?" Mark chuckled at that, stopping when Merlinus began to glare at him. "I'm a spy. I'll explain it so you can understand. I go to places to steal things, gather information, check on people... that sort of thing."

Merlinus simply 'hmph'd,' before turning and leaving.

"But if people can tell I work for royalty just by looking at me, then I wouldn't be much of a spy, would I? Anyway, for the last month or so, I've been gathering information all over Lycia, but when I heard of Lord Hector's death in Araphen, I returned here as quickly as I could. And what do I find? Those idiots, Leygance and Devias, have started a rebellion. I didn't make it in time to save Lord Hector, but I will save Lady Lilina."

"Then you'll join us?" Roy asked, the Thief nodding in reply. "Good, we can work together to rescue her. Do you know where she is?" Roy asked.

Mark suddenly seemed to materialize next to Roy, listening in.

Astol looked a little taken aback. "Of course I do! Information is my job! Lady Lilina is locked in a small room in the center of the castle. And, of course, that dastard Leygance is sitting up high on the throne, not one hallway down from her."

"Well, we better get this done ASAP. A Dragon General is coming down from Bern, and we can't take him on _while _we're fighting rebels," Mark said. "So, Astol, you and Chad are back here with me, what fun. And Roy, head up with the others swordsmen, Dieck and Rutger."

Bors began to slowly advance, Lot and Ward (the Fighters) following, with Roy, Dieck and Rutger behind them, all in a pyramid formation, the archers flanking both sides.

_-Small room in Castle Ostia-_

"What's all this noise? Is there fighting going on outside...?" she silently pondered to herself, as an arrow flew over the top of the wall, striking the ground just in front of her.

Her eyes grew wide as she lifted and stared it.

Suddenly another was loosed, striking the tile just to her right.

She cried out and ran to the opposite corner, trying to sink through the wall.

But alas, Lilina could not escape the rain of arrows.

_-Castle Ostia-_

Roy held his breath as he stood, back to the wall, Rapier in hand.

Mark had commanded an ambush to be carried out on the next units who turned the corner they guarded. Rutger was near him, a deadly, curved sword in his hand, while Dieck stood to Roy's left, a massive two-handed blade in his hand.

Suddenly, several soldiers, easily twelve, came rushing around the corner, lances overhead, battle-cries voiced loudly.

They ran into Roy, all falling on top of each other.

Roy quickly stabbed the dumbfounded soldier that had run into him first, killing him instantly, and pushed the corpse off of his chest, before preparing to stab another.

Meanwhile, Rutger had dodged the soldiers and was simply stabbing or beheading the soldiers before they could even get up. And this was all while Dieck was cleaving their backs (they were face down) with his massive sword, the sharp edge easily cutting through the thin platemail they wore, and into the skin, bathing the red uniforms in even more red.

It was going well, Mark thought.

Then they were ambushed.

_-Elsewhere in the Castle-_

"Lord Barth, this is a dead end," he said, staring at the knight.

All in all, they were quite an odd party. One, Oujay, was a Mercenary with rich blue hair, and similar eyes. He wore a light green shirt, with two leather straps, forming an X when they met were adorned on the shirt. Two brown shoulder-pads were attached to the straps. His pants were black, and he held a moderately long and thick sword in both his hands.

Another, Barth, was an armored knight. He wore simple armor, blue with gilded trim that covered the majority of his body. His hair was pale blond, shaped into a mo-hawk, and he had small, somewhat squinty eyes. A large lance was held in his right hand.

And the final of the three, was an armored knight as well, though she was a girl, Wendy. She had bright pink hair and similarly pink eyes. She had pale pink armor that was several sizes too big, but she seemed to maneuver in it well enough.

Seems to be a theme going on, here... hm, wonder what it is...

"I know this castle inside and out. We can break through this wall," Barth said, gesturing to the Western wall, "if we strike it."

"Alright," Oujay replied, proceeding to hit the wall with his shoulder.

It soon gave way.

_-Roy's Party-_

Roy was swapping blows with two evidently skilled Soldiers. Dieck was handling two Knights, rolling and dodging each thrust they sent, while Rutger was sprinting around each soldier and slicing through their necks with grace. The Cavaliers and Paladin rode around the clash, cutting through everyone on the outskirts of the battle.

Dorothy and Wolt stood behind two pillars, sniping enemies only when they had a clear shot. The tThieves had disappeared on Mark's orders. Lugh was unable to do anything, save for intimidating the rival forces with his vicious glare.

Bors was... almost there.

Roy sidestepped a thrust, and jumped to avoid a sweep. He, in turn, thrust his rapier at the chest of one of the soldiers.

He pulled the sword out and spun, blocking another sweep.

The soldier jumped back, eyes trained on Roy's figure.

The lance that came through his chest as he landed shined bright with blood. A scream escaped his lips, cut off by a choking sound as the lance was pulled out.

The corpse fell to the ground, face twisted in agony. Roy stared into the brown eyes of the body, and the face of the corpse, contorted in pain and agony, stared back at him.

Suddenly, the finger twitched, and once more a weapon—Roy didn't pay it any attention—struck the man through his back, the whole body somehow flexing. The lance was pulled out, the body, now once again a corpse, going limp.

A hand clasped Roy's back. Roy turned, sighting Mark.

"Come on, Roy. It's not over yet," Mark said.

_-Oujay's Party-_

They ran through the halls—they, as in Oujay.

Though despite the heavy armor, Wendy and Barth managed a brisk jog. Barth was already huffing, and Wendy had begun to tire.

"Lord Barth, Miss Wendy, I can see them! I'm going to jump in!" Oujay called, pouring on what was left of his speed into a final sprint, and gripping his Armorslayer tightly.

He jumped into the air, flipping as he did. He came down with a brutal slash to the shoulder of the Knight.

The Knight cried out, stabbed through the back with a larger sword. He fell to the ground, revealing a tall man with turquoise hair and brown pants staring at Oujay.

"Hello? Are you the Lycians?" Oujay asked, flipping his blue hair out of his eyes.

_-Small room in Castle Ostia-_

The arrows had long since ceased firing, though Lilina was still huddled up in the the corner, hugging her knees close to her chest.

Suddenly, a figure fell over the high walls, into her room and approached her from the shadows.

She shook at it approached, pushing herself as far back into the corner as possible.

It bowed before her, showing only it's short purple hair, and the orange, ragged and cut up cape falling over its' black pants and shirt.

"My Lady Lilina, it is good to see that you are safe," the figure said, rising to be identified as a man.

Lilina furrowed her brow and tilted her head, staring inquisitively at him. "Astol!" she finally cried, running up to him, "Is that you?" She recognized him from the numerous times she had seen Hector and him talking. He had frequently been kind to her, often giving her a bit of candy before he departed.

"Yes, my Princess. Come, his Lordship Roy and Sir Mark have come to rescue you," he said, offering a hand.

"Roy is here?" she asked, smiling even wider, if that was possible.

_-Hallway to Throne Room-_

"Roy!"

Roy turned abruptly, almost tackled by a blue and red blur.

He caught Lilina in a tight hug, placing her down a few seconds later, a light shade of red over his cheeks.

"Roy... It's really you..." Lilina said, her eyes ever so slightly watery.

"Yes!" Roy said in return.

"You came! I'm so happy..."

"Well—"

"Roygetbacktothebattlebeforewegetattackedandyoudiebecauseifyoudiewe'retotallyscrewed," Mark said, clearing his throat as he did.

Roy complied, cutting short the joyous reunion. "Thank goodness you're alright," he said. "Here, take this spell book to defend yourself."

"Thanks!" she said, accepting the Thunder tome he handed her.

Roy nodded, turning and sprinting back to the rest of the group as they rushed up the steps to the Throne Room.

_-Throne Room-_

"Okay, everyone, watch it. This guy is a General. It looks like he has a Javelin, so Mages, stand down for the moment. Rangers, too." Mark bit his lip, thinking of how to finish this man.

"Sir Mark! Let us attack!"

Mark turned to the voice which had called to him.

Bors.

Bors stood with the two new recruits, who had turned out to be Ostian Knights: Barth and Wendy.

All in all, three Knights versus one General would most likely be an easy battle to win. But the new girl, Wendy. She was in very little armor, and could get struck easily.

"Alright, go ahead," Mark finally said. She was fast enough to dodge the hits, anyway.

"Everyone—Triangle attack!" Bors yelled as they approached Leygance.

Mark smiled amusedly at that. Back when he'd been in charge of Eliwood's army, the Triangle Attack had been a procedure taught to Pegasus Knights to use for challenging enemies. Markw wondered how it could be adapted for much slower Knights.

Bors stood several meters in front of Leygance, who was flanked by Barth on his right and Wendy on his left.

Bors began to advance towards him.

Before he arrived, Wendy had rushed up to him, batting at his stomach with her lance. Leygance blocked it with one arm, his right, while Barth came at him from the other side, stabbing at him.

Leygance grabbed the Lance's side, the friction causing smoke as it slowed in his iron grip. Barth's eyes grew wide. Few foes had dodged his thrust, much less block it.

"Ha! You cannot defeat me—Leygance, Ostia's finest—Gah!" he cried, as Bors' lance thrust into his chest, bathing his shining purple armor in equally shiny red.

But it was not quite enough. "I will not be defeated in such a manner!" Leygance cried, pushing Wendy's lance away and pulling Barth's own towards his body.

Barth was struck hard in the nose by a crippling punch from the General. His legs flew out from under him, still propelled by the lance being pulled and he fell on his back, gritting his teeth to keep from crying out.

Bors stared at the General, awestruck at his might, as his lance was wrenched from Leygance's chest and thrown to the ground. Leygance charged at Roy, pushing Bors away as he did.

Then, in a blinding flash of brilliant white light, a bolt of lightning struck his body, multiplied in power by the metal armor he wore. It seemed to intensify as time passed, still crackling for several seconds, before dissipating, leaving the charred body of the once mighty General in its' stead.

"...Lady Lilina?" the body asked, sighting the girl.

No answer.

"You were supposed to be... dead, by now..."

She looked sadly at him. "Leygance, why?"

"Times are... changing, milady... I just don't want to get... left behind. I'm not like... Lord Hector... who was too foolish—"

He was cut off by Lilina's enraged cry, "Quiet!" she commanded, "You will not insult my Father any more!"

Another fierce, though somewhat less intense bolt of lightning shocked his body, a scream sounding ever-so-slightly louder than the thunderclap.

The bolt dissipated once more, leaving Leygance on the floor this time. "Why..." he choked out. "You are only... to be trampled over... by Bern... How can you... fight so hard?"

Leygance finally let out his last breath, eyes shut, crippled by Thunder.

Lilina collapsed on the ground.

_-Later-_

"Again, Roy, as I told you, it's because she let off too much magical energy at one time. She's not that good of a Mage. She can't put out so much energy without consequences."

"Just keep calm, Roy, she'll come to soon, I'm sure," Mark said.

"I hope so..." Roy muttered to himself.

Lugh rolled his eyes.

"Lugh, you can go now," Mark replied to his eye-roll.

"Thanks for the option, but I think I'm fine here," Lugh retorted.

"Oh?" Mark asked. "Well, I guess—Sweet Elimine! What is that?!" Mark cried, pointing at the door, trembling a bit. Lugh turned and Mark grabbed him up, slinging him over his shoulder.

"Put me down!" Lugh indignantly yelled, pounding down on Mark's shoulders.

"Jeez, kid, what do you eat? Bricks?" Mark asked, obviously struggling to carry the young boy.

Lugh chuckled at this.

"Lot? Lot! Get over here and take this kid!" Mark yelled.

Seconds later, the orange-haired Fighter appeared and picked the boy up from Mark's shoulder with ease, taking him out of the room, leaving only Mark, Roy and Lilina.

"...Roy?" she groggily asked.

"Lilina! Lilina, you're awake!"

She smiled at him. "What happened?" she asked, her eyes still closed.

"We captured the castle."

"That's good. I'm glad my father didn't have to..."

Roy put on an inquisitive look, which she did not see, because of her shut eyes.

"Roy, is my father still in Araphen?" she asked. Roy froze, and Mark's jaw almost dropped. "I heard it's a tough battle, but do you think it will last much longer?"

"Lilina..." he said, the corners of his mouth sagging. "Haven't you heard anything?" he softly asked.

"What?" she asked, cracking her eyes.

Roy was silent for a moment, before taking a deep breath. "Lord Hector... has passed away..."

"What?" she asked again, the information not registering.

Roy looked sadly at her now almost entirely open eyes.

"I'm sorry... When we arrived at Castle Araphen... Bern had already captured it, and..." Roy trailed off, not wanting to say it.

Lilina shed a tear. Then another. And another. And another. Soon, two streams had formed on her cheeks.

Roy held her close.

"D-Don't apologize..." she managed to finally sputter out, "It-It's not your fault..."

"He was severely wounded... Maybe if we had gotten there earlier..."

"No, it's okay... I..." she sniffed, "I had thought something bad was happening..." She rubbed her eyes and looked at Roy again. "I'm a Warrior's daughter. I've been taught to keep calm in times like this," she resolutely said.

"Lilina..."

"Everyone should have told me... They're too considerate... I'm strong, too, you know..."

"Lilina..." Roy repeated. "You don't have to hold back in front of me..."

The door shut behind Mark as he exited the room. No sarcastic remark, joke, or anything of the like. Lilina needed time.

There would be plenty of time for that later.

"Roy... I..." Lilina began, her eyes beginning to water once more.

"It's okay. I'm here for you," Roy said.

"Roy..."


	10. The Blazing Blade

Okay, people. I was thinking about it. A lot. And what I thought about was that I could add some more characters.

From FE 7!

One such character makes a minor appearance, though it is, and will be, a minor one. Why did I put her in if it's only a minor appearance, you ask? Well, I think there aren't enough FE 7 characters in FE 6, and if I don't put them in, who will?

And note that this is a few days after the taking of the Castle Ostia.

---

Chapter 10: The Blazing Blade

---

"Dude," Mark said, "I'm not even kidding. If I don't find them in the next five minutes, somebody is going to die. With a knife. In the head."

_'Where's Jaffar, dammit!'_

"Sir Mark, I believe they went to the caves to retrieve a weapon of sorts, or... something to that effect."

Mark turned to the man, looking him in the eye. "Really?" he asked skeptically.

"Yes, but they left several hours ago so I think they'll be back soon."

"Oh. Why don't people tell me things like that?"

"Perhaps they may think you tend to... overreact a bit?"

"I don't overreact," Mark replied, contemplating slapping him. Shrugging it off, he said, "Thanks though, I guess."

"You're welcome, sir," he said as he turned to leave.

"Hey wait," Mark said. "You're Oujay, right?"

"Uh, yes," Oujay replied.

"So, are you any good?"

"At what?"

"Fighting. Beating the crap out of Bern and... stuff."

"Well, I can fight pretty well... I know my way around a battle."

"Uh-huh. Well—"

"Everyone, Bern's on the horizon! Prepare for a battle!" a soldier's voice rang out.

They had released the captive Soldiers, Knights, Archers and Cavaliers as soon as they had recaptured the castle. Once released, they had promptly been told to get in defensive positions. Then Roy and approximately nine others had left, leaving only a small percentage of the original Lycian army and a few soldiers from Mark's party to fight.

"Mark!" an out-of-breath voice called. Mark looked up.

It was Roy.

"Roy, where have you been?"

_-Flashback-_

"_Roy, over here!" Lilina's high voice rang through the thick air._

_Roy turned a jogged over to her. "The Divine Weapon is located on the other side of the pit."_

_Roy nodded. "But Lilina," he began, more seriously, "are you sure you can fight? Are you... you know, alright?"_

"_Maybe I'm not entirely alright, but now isn't the time to deal with that. Now is the time to protect Ostia, like my father did."_

"_Alright, well, keep it up," Roy said._

"_I'm okay because you're here, Roy," Lilina muttered._

"_What? Did you just say something?" Roy asked._

"_No, nothing," Lilina quickly said. "But do you know about this Divine Weapon?"_

"_No, not really. I'm still not even entirely sure why one is in Ostia," Roy replied._

"_Well, this is the sword used by Roland of the Eight Heroes."_

"_Roland... Is that King Roland, the first King of Ostia?" Roy asked._

"_Right. The sword is called "The Blazing Blade" or the Durandal," Lilina answered._

"_The Durandal... So Roland used the sword to kill dragon in the Scouring..." Roy trailed off, searching the far corners of his mind for some history of Elibe._

"_That's how the legend goes. It said that after the war, Roland returned to his hometown of Ostia and raised the sword high above his head. All the land that had become barren became lush."_

"_Wow... That must be some sword."_

"_Well, if it can defeat dragons, it must have some special powers in it," Lilina said._

"_Alright, I guess we'd better be going. There are some bandits who've made a base here. So we'll have to go through them before we get the sword..."_

_-Regular time-_

They were surrounded. Roy and Mark stood alone just south of the castle.

"Roy. I can get us out of here," Mark whispered as one Wyvern began to circle down.

"Really?" Roy replied. "How?"

"I'll need two of the Etrurian Generals, plus at least twenty squads of Mages and Cavaliers."

Roy glared at him. "I can't believe you're joking at a time like this."

"I'm not joking. I could if I had those numbers," Mark whispered as he stepped behind Roy, shrinking behind the smaller figure.

The wyvern landed, the rider perched high atop it holding a deadly-looking lance. "Ah, so you are Roy, the son of Marquess Eliwood. I must thank you for getting rid of that idiot Leygance for me. And who is that behind you?"

"Who, me?" Mark asked. "Absolutely no one you need to concern yourself with. Actually, in fact, I'm—"

"The Tactician Mark," Narshen said, cutting Mark off. "I had imagined a larger man, with a more... commanding voice."

"Where is he?" Mark asked, turning around repeatedly, searching.

Narshen chuckled. "You certainly squirm to the end, don't you? How I will enjoy crushing you, like a worm underfoot," Narshen said, smiling darkly. "But," he finally said, "I'm willing to simply take Ostia, in exchange for your lives."

"Ye—"

"Don't be ridiculous! We would never give Ostia to the likes of you!"

"Oh? Then do you wish to fight us with that sad little group of yours?" Narshen sarcastically asked. "I shall annihilate you as I did with Lord Hector!" Narshen cried as his Wyvern flew towards Roy.

A massive ball of fire flew down in front of the Wyvern, causing him to have to swerve to avoid it. The wyvern spun in the air, dodging the Arena it had almost struck, and righted itself, high in the air.

Roy looked around. A small army of Mages surrounded the Wyverns. An equally sized army of Cavaliers rode amongst their ranks, with a much more regal-seeming Paladin at the head, and one Valkyrie behind him.

The Paladin approached the Wyverns.

"What...?" Narshen managed to squeak as he stared at the army surrounding him.

"I am Percival, Knight General of Etruria." His black armor glinted in the sunlight, the golden trim matching his blond hair. A deep, royal, purple cape was draped over his shoulders, billowing in the breeze. His hand seemed glued to the hilt of a long sword. "Yesterday, Sorcery General Cecilia informed me that Ostia had requested Etruria's protection."

"What!" Narshen cried, his face contorted in rage.

The Valkyrie approached him, looking him in the eye. "You seem discontent with this. We are prepared for battle. But do you think your Wyverns can stand against all of us?"

"You...!" he breathed, rage flaring out from his nostrils.

"I am Cecilia, Sorcery General of Etruria! Ostia is now under our protection!"

Narshen had long since become visibly enraged. He glared at her, breathing heavily.

"Lord Narshen!" one Wyvern Rider called.

Mark looked up, his jaw practically dropping at what he saw before him.

"Vaida..." he squeaked.

The ages had not been kind. Her once-blond hair had become gray, several wrinkles finding their way onto her face. Her entire outfit: shirt, coat, cape and _pants_ were blood-red, matching the color of her wyvern.

"Oh my god. She is supposed to be dead..." Mark muttered again.

"Control your temper! Lord Percival if one of the strongest knights in Etruria! And with Cecilia here as well..." Vaida said, staring intently at the General.

"I know!" he bellowed. "We're leaving!" He flew up high, preparing to leave. "Cecilia, is it? You have no idea what you are doing here!" he screamed as he flew off.

Vaida flew up high, following him, the other wyverns close behind her.

As the wyverns slowly shrunk in the distance, Mark composed himself, pushing Vaida out of his mind. And slowly he calmed down, back to his regular demeanor.

"Roy, if you ever don't tell me we're getting Etrurian military reinforcements again, I will learn how to use a sword and stab you," Mark whispered in Roy's ear, as Percival dismounted his black horse and approached them.

"You are General Roy, of the Lycia Alliance Army?" he asked.

"Y-Yes! I am in charge of the Lycia Alliance in place of Hector!"

"And who is this with you?"

Mark cleared his throat loudly. "I am Mark the tactician, tactician, and debatably the true general of the Lycia Alliance Army."

Percival almost chuckled. "Interesting." He turned back to Roy. "Lycia is in a time of hardship and our King sends his words of regret for Lord Hector's death."

"Thank you for your help. Without you, Ostia would be under Bern's control by now," Roy said.

"I am not the one to thank. Thank our King for allowing me to come. Thank Cecilia who went against the King to help you."

"She disobeyed orders?"

"Gasp!" Mark muttered.

"Yes. Now isn't that something," he said. "Ah, but I must be off. Two of the Three Etrurian Generals shouldn't be out of the country at one time."

He turned. "Cecilia. Can you take care of the rest?"

"Yes."

"Alright, then," Percival said, remounting his horse and riding away, the small army of Cavaliers following behind him.

A few seconds passed as Cecilia dismounted and walked to Roy and Mark. The trio all stood in silence as they watched the army exit the city, except for Mark who was fidgeting with a button on his cloak.

He finished and looked up. "Uhhh... Are we supposed to be, like, doing something, or something?"

This snapped both Cecilia and Roy out of their respective reveries.

"General Percival... Now he's someone," Roy murmured.

"That's why he's a General," Cecilia said.

Roy turned, as if to notice her for the first time. She wore ornate white armor with golden trim, and a purple cloth covering the areas that the armor did not. Sea-foam green hair cascaded down to her armor, and similarly colored eyes stared at Roy, and Mark.

"General Cecilia! It's good to see you again!" Roy said with a smile.

She smiled back at him. "How are you doing, Roy? You look a little tired."

"Yes, I'm fine. Thanks to Etruria—" Mark snorted extremely loudly, "—and in part from Mark, our Tactician, at least."

"I'm glad we made it here in time," Cecilia said.

"Well I'm sorry. We put you through a lot of trouble," Roy replied.

"No, actually. It's going to be beneficial for Etruria to take Ostia under its' protection."

"Beneficial?" Roy asked.

"Yes. Bern's been acting rather aggressively these days, and we've wanted to go to war with them lately, but since they haven't made any direct movements against us, we haven't been able to go to war. But with Ostia, we have a chance to fight them."

"So being requested to protect Ostia... You saw it as a good reason to declare war on Bern?"

"Good enough, at least. But we just did what was best for us. You don't need to feel that you're in our debt."

"Well, thank—"

"So you shouldn't thank us," she said, cutting him off with a smile.

"Understood, I won't. Well, anyway, please come in and meet the rest of our army," Roy said, turning to go and enter the castle.

"He's gotten so bold in the short time I haven't seen him..." Cecilia said, mounting her horse.

"They grow up so fast..." Mark said, dabbing at his eye with a bit of his cloak.

Cecilia winced, turning to stare at the brown-haired man before her.

"What?" he asked, taken aback.

"Are you... Mark? The Tactician?" she asked.

"Oh. Yeah. A little bit."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," she said, extending her arm.

"Yeah. Uh, same," Mark said, clasping it and shaking it.

"I'll be honest, I pictured someone a bit older."

"I get that a lot."

---

I know it took a while, but it was worth it, right?

R3\/!3\/\/


	11. A New Fight

Whoa... This chapter was EVIL.

First, I couldn't think of a title I liked, but I eventually settles on 'A New Fight' because Mark and company is fighting a group that isn't Bern, and two, because of the coup and it is a new fight as well.

And then I tried to write the part in Ostia several times, the setting ranging from obnoxious Mark in a meeting, to drunk Mark on the way back from a pub, to drunk Mark _at_ a pub... Wow. I might just have to make a whole new fic with scenario's of Mark being... Mark in different situations...

R&R.

---

Chapter 11: A New Fight

---

_-Location Unknown-_

The room was dark, illuminated only by a few candles. The walls were painted an ugly shade of violet, peeling in some places. An object, indistinguishable in the light, cast a shadow on one side of the room, as another did to the opposite side.

"Roartz. Arcard." His voice shattered the silence, commanding the attention of all present. "I take it that you two are the men I was sent to meet with?" The upper half of his body was cloaked in darkness, the lower half visible in the dim light. He appeared to be wearing an extravagant white cloak with golden trim. His hair was black, even darker in the absence of light. He stared coldly through his blue eyes.

"Yes. You are... Sir Waldstein?"

"Yes," the man replied, stepping from the shadows. "Please, I must see you to confirm your identities."

They slowly walked out of the shadow they had been standing in, the dim light showing their faces. Lord Waldstein looked them over.

One, the older of the two, if looks were anything to go by, stared at Lord Waldstein with appraising eyes and a scowl. His hair was grayed and stark in contrast to his violet cloak.

The other wore navy blue armor with a pale purple cape, somehow lightening his already lively purple hair.

The first inclined his head, ever-so-slightly, to Lord Waldstein. "I am Count Roartz," he said. His voice was old, Waldstein noted, and lacked any emotion whatsoever.

The second bowed lower, introducing himself as Lord Arcard.

"So you are the two who intend to carry out this coup? Just you alone?" he asked, tilting his head in confusion. "Not to say it could not be done, but..."

"We have convinced all our men. As well, a few minor nobles have joined us."

"Do the royals have any suspicions?"

"They no nothing."

Waldstein smiled. "Well, I assume you know the layout of the castle?"

They nodded.

"Excellent, this will be much easier. We have operatives inside the castle, and inside your manors. They will give you a breakdown of the plan and lead you through it. Roartz, yours is named Cyrus and Arcard, yours is named Lee.

"They will give you an in-depth walk-through of the plan, but this is how it will work, essentially. You will seek an audience with the King, at the same time and date, telling him it is of urgent news. You will arrive, taking different routes, and will meet in the Meeting Room. From there, you will subdue him and after that, we will take care of everything. Understood?"

"Er, yes," Roartz replied.

"Yes," Arcard said.

"Good, then I would have you return to your manors, and I will see you later," Waldstein said as he turned to leave.

"But what of you?"

"I'll be arranging things with the other operatives. Good day," Waldstein said, exiting the room.

_-Ostia-_

"So, we've been turned into Etrurian slaves in exchange for the freedom of our country. Damn, what wrong with us? Our deal-making skills suck."

"It was necessary."

"Your lips say one thing, but your eyes say another."

"...What?" Roy asked, confused.

"Nevermind, wrong context. So what's this announcement thing for anyway?"

"We're giving the citizens of Ostia the news about the New Lycia Alliance."

"Well, as long as I get to wear this awesome cloak. Totally awesome."

Mark wore a long, bright green cloak. Under it, a black collared shirt with black pants, both with golden trim. His brown hair was combed, ever-so-slightly, and his blue eyes were open all the way.

"Alright, here we are," Roy said as they walked into a radiant light.

Mark shielded his eyes for a moment, taking his arm away after a few seconds and blinking rapidly.

As he grew adjusted to the light, he noticed the massive crowd around the large balcony. As far as he could see, people stood, staring at the three who stood on the balcony.

Eliwood, Roy and Mark.

"People of Lycia!" Eliwood began, his voice somehow strong, despite his illness.

Mark stopped listening right there, instead concentrating on the crowd before him. Near the front stood his party and the various other Marquesses of Lycia. Behind them were the soldiers, and then the citizenry behind them.

"Oh, look at me, I'm on a balcony, and I'm totally bad-ass," Mark muttered to himself.

The speech ended, the crowd roaring as Eliwood lifted his hands to the air.

Mark could not help but smile at the scene before him. Thousands of people had gathered to cheer for _him_. And Eliwood and Roy. An excellent feeling overcame him, which he immediately categorized as pride. This was what made his victories all worth it.

The cheering continued as they left the balcony, Eliwood first, then Roy, then Mark.

_-Later-_

"Look, Eliwood, no matter what you say, I will not stay. I have to leave, okay? No, don't cry. Come on, I'll visit later."

Eliwood stared confusedly at Mark.

"Dammit, Eliwood! I will not stay!" he suddenly screamed. "Roy needs my help! I don't care if you love me!"

"What?"

Mark's eyes suddenly softened, and he placed a hand on Eliwood's shoulder. "Eliwood. Look me in the eye, and tell me this isn't necessary for Lycia to survive."

"But it is..." he said.

"I'm glad you're finally seeing reason," Mark softly said. He released the grip on Eliwood's shoulder as Merlinus approached them in his carriage.

Mark peaked inside, sighting several piles of brand-new, shining weapons.

"Uh, Merlinus, you _do _realize that stealing is illegal, right?" Mark asked.

"I didn't—"

"Not to say that I mind. I mean, if you want to steal us a massive store of weapons, that's fine with me."

"These aren't—"

"But it just doesn't seem right, you know?"

"These weapons—" Merlinus suddenly stopped, looking at Mark, who didn't move, instead raising his eyebrows. "Were not stolen. They were bought with funds donated from the Ostian treasury."

"Oh. Well, what do we have? And where is everyone? And why are they still with us?"

"They're right over there, ready to depart," Roy said, pointing to the group of soldiers.

Merlinus piped up after Roy. "After we've departed we can go over the weapons and assign them."

Mark shrugged. "Fine. But, let's head out now. I'm ready, and the Western Isles aren't getting any less-terrorized!" he cheerfully said, climbing onto Merlinus' cart and moving to the weapons.

---

Okay, so not much happens, but only the part with the coup was planned, originally. The rest was just... filler. So don't hate me for it being short! I'll have the next chapter out ASAP. Promise!


	12. The Misty Isles

Jeremy is an OC! All battle-formations in this story are made up from my head!

R&R!

---

Chapter 12: The Misty Isles

---

"Bleh..." Mark said. He swayed on the edge of the ship, his head hanging over the edge. "Jeremy!" he called, the sickness evident in his voice.

"Yes, Sir Mark?" Jeremy asked as he approached the swaying tactician.

After they had left Ostia, Mark realized that the small army of soldiers in Ostian armor that had been following them had been assigned to them, to help with the Pirate clean-out. The majority of the soldiers were simple foot-soldiers, wielding lances. A few were Mercenaries and Myrmidons, and an even smaller percentage were archers and mages.

Jeremy was a Soldier, and Mark had politely asked him to be his assistant.

"Jeremy, I'm sick. Fix it."

_-Western Isles-_

"Thank Elimine!" Mark cried as he jumped from the deck of the ship.

"Sir Mark!"

"Mark!"

"Mark!"

The cries came from the edge of the ship, as Mark plummeted to the ground.

He landed with a thud, in the skinny arms of Roy.

"You need to work on your catching skills, buddy," Mark said, patting Roy's shoulder-pad. He hopped out of Roy's arms.

"Okay, gang," he called up to those on the deck. "Unload fast, and we'll head on over to..." Mark trailed off, and leaned over to Roy. "Where are we going?" he whispered.

_-Elsewhere-_

The Pirate walked on his bare feet, to his leader, grunting with every uncomfortable step on the stone floor.

"Boss!" he yelled, once the Boss had come within earshot. "Those guys from Lycia are here!"

The 'Boss' processed the information quickly, replying, "You sure?"

The Pirate had learned to control his laughter, the scars on his back being his main motivation. "Yeah, we saw 'em land on a little island to the east."

"Just as those other guys said... Alright, they're probably floundering around in the fog, unable to see anything. Just sneak up on 'em from behind and kill 'em off."

"Sure thing, Boss," the Pirate replied, exiting the room.

-_Near the Ship-_

"I'm sorry I can't be of more service, Roy," Cecilia said.

"Please, don't worry about it. It isn't your responsibility, Lady Cecilia," he kindly replied.

She sighed. "Yes. But even within Etruria, there are many who have been voicing their discontent on how the advisor is treating Lycia like servants."

"Advisor?" Roy inquired. "I thought the King was the one who made the decision to send us out here to take care of these Pirates."

"No. Advisor Roartz and Lord Arcard, the one in charge of the mining operation here, decided to give the order themselves, without the permission of the king."

"Illegal dastards!" Mark yelled from somewhere near the boat. Upon all heads turning to him, he just continued his business with a particularly shocked soldier.

"How can they do that?" Roy asked, after everyone had resumed their business.

Cecilia was quiet for a moment. She moved closer to Roy and whispered, "Do you remember last year's tragedy?"

"Yes. Prince Mildain, King Mordred's son passed away last year."

"Right," she replied.

"I never had the honor of meeting him. I understand he was a very intelligent individual."

"Roy, please, flattery will get you no where," Mark said, suddenly materializing next to Roy.

"I wasn't—"

"Just keep going," Mark said, cutting Roy off.

Cecilia continued, having gotten used to Mark's comments during the boat ride, "Yes. If he were alive, Etruria wouldn't be like this. King Mordred couldn't bear the death of his son. The shock was so great... he never really recovered from it. Even today, it seems like he's off in a different reality. Roartz took advantage of this. Now he's basically in charge of the castle. He's kept us—the Three Etrurian Generals—away from the king, unless there is a great emergency."

"But what about Ostia?" Roy asked.

"That was an exception because Percival worked with me."

"Please don't worry yourself. We can return to Lycia once this mission is over. But please, watch the Princess while we're gone."

"Roy..." Guinevere said.

Mark jumped, muttering something unintelligible before taking a deep breath and calming himself.

"I may not go with you?" she asked.

"I'm sorry milady, but these battles are likely to become..." Roy trailed off, trying to think of a word to describe the bloody fights.

"Slugfests?" Mark suggested.

"Yes. I think you should lay low in Etruria with protection from General Cecilia."

"Your Highness, please allow me to do this. I understand your desire for a peace treaty, and I promised Roy I would protect you. Trust me, I will defend you at all costs," Cecilia said.

Guinevere was silent for a moment, but seeing Roy's nod, she replied, "I understand. I apologize for being selfish. Roy, I pray for your safety."

"Thank—"

"Ehem."

"And, yours as well, Sir Mark," she said with some hint of smile.

"Thank—"

"Thank you, Princess," Mark said.

"Thank you, Milady, I pray for yours as well," Roy said.

With that, they left, on the boat, leaving Roy, Mark, Roy's Party and the Ostian Army.

"Okay, folks," Mark yelled, "I want everyone to take bandit-cleaving formation, with..." Mark bit his lip, "Cavalry options and airborne reinforcements."

_-Elsewhere-_

"Sir Scott!" she said.

"Oh, Fir. Sorry I had to call you in."

Fir was a young, black-haired girl. She wore a short, light-blue dress, with a large, loose white vest. She had dark blue boots.

"No problem. What's all the noise?" she asked, scarcely keeping her laughter under wraps.

"Well, some Brigands are attacking this island. The people here are in danger."

"What!" she yelled, her cheerfulness quickly diminished, replaced by rage. How dare anyone attack people who cannot defend themselves!

"I sent some men over there to stop them, but they're pretty tough. The situation doesn't look good."

"I can't believe..." she muttered.

"I would go out there myself, but I have to hold the castle. Fir, I'm so sorry... But could you...?"

"Yes. I shall go and drive them away," she resolutely said.

"Thanks," he replied, a satisfied smile coming over his face.

"Attacking innocent villagers... that is unforgivable!" she muttered to herself as she turned to leave.

"I asked another guy too, and he said yes, so you two'll be working together."

"Someone... else?" she inquired, as if the concept was entirely new.

"Yeah. He's a Nomad, Shin. He looks frail, but he's a decent shot with his bow."

Fir nodded and exited the fortress.

After walking a few feet, she sighted the Nomad. He rode a brown horse, and wore a somewhat loose dark green shirt and similarly loose green pants, which were tucked into his brown boots. His expression was serious, and somewhat scary, the effect amplified by a green bandanna and dark hair.

"Are you... Shin?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied. "I heard the story from Scott. Let's go." His horse began to trot at a leisurely pace, his bow pulled taut. Fir jogged alongside him.

For a while, it was silent as they rode through the dense fog. Fir broke the silence. "Um, did you also join the fight to help the people living on this island?"

"No. I have no interest in such things," he replied, his voice seeming to be void of emotion.

"Then why?"

"I'm paid to fight. That's all."

He trotted a bit quicker, but she kept pace, muttering, "I gotta keep the conversation going..." After a moment, a thought hit her. "So you're from Sacae, right?"

"Yes."

"Then what brought you all the way out here?"

"It's nothing new. And you look like you're from Sacae. What brought you all the way out here?"

"Well, I'm traveling around Elibe to train myself, and... Oh," she said, catching on to the rhetorical nature of the question, "you weren't asking about me..."

They were silent for a moment, Fir feeling tense, and Shin feeling somewhat guilty.

"I'm looking for someone," he finally said.

"Who?" she asked.

He was silent for a moment, before replying, "My clan lost to Bern when they invaded. Our leader to me to escape, and to find and protect his granddaughter. So, I left the battlefield to fulfill his request."

"Oh, I see," Fir replied. "Well, I hope you find her."

"...Yes."

_-In the Fortress-_

"Boss, you sure? Letting a girl fight out there like that..."

"Yeah, I know what I'm doing," the leader replied. "Once she's killed, we can take that sword she's got."

"Sword? That weird one she has?"

"That's not ordinary sword. That's the famous 'Wo Dao'. If we get it and sell it... It's worth a fortune." The thought gave him a smile.

"Oh, so that's why you were so generous to her at first..." the Pirate finally said.

"I haven't had a chance, 'til now. I want you to follow her, and grab it when she's dead."

"Sure thing, Boss!" the Pirate cheerfully said as he left the room and fortress.

_-The Heat of Battle-_

"Hey! Idiot! Don't break formation!" Mark yelled. "Someone go stop that idiot Cavalier!"

"Fir!" Noah yelled, as he approached the Myrmidon.

"Sir Noah?!" Fir yelled, dodging a sweep from a nearby Soldier. "What are you doing here?"

Noah lifted a hand to signal for the Soldier to back down. "I joined this army a while back—whoa!" he yelled, ducking on his horse to avoid a slash from the Myrmidon. "What are you thinking?! Put away your sword!"

"Sir Noah!" she yelled. "I thought you were more noble than this!"

"What?" he asked, utterly confused.

"Just because you're a mercenary Knight... Lending your services to pirates?! You should be ashamed!" she cried, lifting her sword, the Wo Dao, once more.

It was at this point Mark walked into the conversation. "Noah!" he barked. "Get back in formation! Now! Stop fraternizing with the enemy!" He turned to Fir. "And you, 'Fir', if that _is_ your real name, you are mistaken! _We_ are the good guys, and _you_ are the bad guys! You are the Pirates! We are Lycians sent to kill Pirates!" he yelled, leaving with Noah, face erd with anger.

Fir stood, utterly befuddled.

That was when the pirate jumped her. His axe whizzed through the air, and she barely noticed in time, dodging the slash. "What...?" she murmured, staring at the pirate before her.

_-Later-_

"For Elimine's sake... Not another one!" Mark cried as a horse rode off from the party. "Someone!" he barked. "Go get that Nomad!"

As Sue approached Shin, the latter launched an arrow, which whizzed past the Sacaen woman.

She tensed for a moment as he rode towards her. "Lady Sue!" he cried.

"Shin... Why are you here?" she asked.

"I've been looking for you!" he said, with some uncharacteristic happiness, evident in his voice.

"For me?" she inquired, obviously confused.

"Yes. That was the Clan Leader's orders."

"What happened after I left?" she asked.

"Er. Let us go past your battle-lines, where we can talk peacefully."

They rode past the line, passing by the front fighters, loosing a few arrows on nearby enemies to alert their allies to their presence. As they passed the line, Sue caught a glare from Mark. His look seemed to say, "Yeah. That's what I thought."

They arrived at an isolated spot, at the edge of one of the many islands which the army was doing battle on. Shin looked her in the eye. "I'm sorry. We didn't stand a chance against Bern..."

"We lost..."

The duo shared a sad silence, the fog seeming to amplify it, isolating them from the battlefield. "What has happened to my grandfather?" Sue finally asked.

"He is continuing the struggle against Bern."

"I see."

"I was told by him to come and find you."

"So you will fight alongside us?" Sue asked.

"With... you?" he asked.

"We will be helping grandfather because this army is fighting against Bern. Also, this army saved my life," she said, further glorifying the image of the army.

"Understood, my lady. If that is your plan... then I am at your disposal," he said, flashing a seldom-shown smile.

"Thank you." The two simple words meant more to Shin than Sue would ever know.

_-Later-_

"So the fog didn't stop you after all..."

Mark started laughing as soon as the Berserker spoke, causing him no small amount of anger.

"What's so funny?" he irritatedly yelled.

"Your voice!" Mark replied, laughing more and more uncontrollably.

The Berserker charged, lugging a massive, lethal, scary-looking axe. He was ten feet from Mark, when three shadows jumped from the shadows, each striking him

Astol and Chad stabbed his lower stomach, and Rutger stabbed right below his ribcage.

He screamed, and lifted the two thieves by thieves by their heads, before launching them into the air, and sending a solid punch into Rutger's jaw. Rutger fell to the ground, miraculously conscious. The Berserker's axe came down.

Rutger barely rolled away from it in time.

The axe was hefted again and swung down once more.

Two blades met the axe.

Dieck and Oujay met the massive axe with the flats of their respective blades, holding it off with much effort from both arms.

The Berserker backed away, an awed look on his face.

A bolt of Thunder ended him, charring his body. As it let up, he dropped his axe and fell to his knees, his mouth hanging open. Just to be safe, Mark ordered Oujay to run him through with a quick stab.

As the bloodied sword was withdrawn, the Berserker seemed to be pulled back with it. And once the tip had come out of the corpse, the Pirate fell forward and onto the ground.

"What are you?" he croaked. "You're no ordinary army..."

Mark, despite the gruesome sight before him, chuckled, for the last time, at the man's voice.

_-Afterwards-_

After defeating the Pirates, the army had checked the fortress and made sure everyone was safe and that no pirates were in it.

Afterwards, everyone had begun to relax, save for Roy and Merlinus, who were in a particularly relaxing room, which they shared with Mark.

"Merlinus, it looked like the enemy was trying to ambush us..." Roy said.

"Ungh... No... dip..." Mark said, rolling over from the comfortable futon he had claimed.

"They must have known we were coming, " Merlinus replied.

Roy could only put the pieces together. "They must've had someone alert them to that information... something must be going on behind the scenes."

"Or... lookout... posted...sentry..." Mark said, mouthing words he did not say.

"Yes. Clearing out the Pirates may be a much more hazardous task than expected. Ever since Bern started their invasion, something has been different in Elibe."

Finally Mark rolled off of the futon, landing on the ground with a thud. He pushed himself up to a sitting position and spoke, "Yeah. It's called Mark, the super-awesome Tactician who owns Bern. And everything else."

Roy, having mastered the precious skill of ignoring Mark, voiced his agreement with Merlinus. "I agree," he said. "With dragons reappearing, Bern's sudden invasion, the collapse of the Lycia Alliance... all of these strange things happening at once..."

"Well, they're all linked together, actually," Mark said. "Bern gets dragons. Dragon cause collapse. Simple. I think someone isn't using their noggin," he said, gesturing to his skull.

Merlinus, however, had not mastered the skill of ignorance of Mark. "But what caused them to want to bring back dragons to conquer Elibe?" he asked.

"I don't know. I'm a tactical genius, sub-General, and second-in-command of the Lycia Alliance, not a miracle worker," he said, poking Merlinus with every occupation he listed. "Dammit," he added as an afterthought.

The trio shared a silence for a small time, during which Mark sat back down and began to fumble with a button on his cloak.

"So, now... what do we do?" Merlinus finally asked, ending the silence with an acceptable question.

"How about we move to the north along the coast?" Roy suggested.

"Second," Mark said, not looking up from the apparently intriguing button.

"Towards the mines?" Merlinus asked.

"Right. I've heard that the people on these islands are being forced to labor over there."

"So we must rescue them first," Merlinus murmured.

"Yes, and after that we may be able to find out who's behind all this—"

"By using the favor gained from the villagers to ask... Roy, you're a genius, and if you were just a few percents more womanly, I would give you a kiss."

---

I think that's a suitable note on which to end this chapter.

Review, please!


	13. The Resistance Forces

Read! Enjoy! Review! But mostly the second two!

---

Chapter 13: The Resistance Forces

---

"Wow, I can't believe it's still here," Mark muttered with some amusement as he lifted the notebook from a particularly large pile of tomes, holding it by the bottom of the spine.

He set it down and flipped through the pages, stopping at the first blank one.

_'Uh... Long time since anything has been written in here, but it's so boring lately. I think I'll have to visit the Caerlon area soon... Anywho, we're on Fibernia, of the Western Isles, heading to Mount Erbakhmenem, to gather some information about the bandits. At the moment, we're about to pass through a castle located in a valley near the mountain. Roy sent a messenger to the Marquess of the land, Nord. I already don't like him. Nord? Yeah, and my name is... Well, let is suffice to say that his name gives him away.'_

Mark shut the book and exited Merlinus' wagon, which had stopped moving since he had boarded it.

_-Nord's Castle-_

"How is that spy from the resistance force doing?"

"Do you mean that dancer? We threw her in the dungeon, sir."

Nord looked expectantly at the soldier, who only seemed to be more uncomfortable with every passing second. Rolling his eyes and sighing, Nord finally spoke. "Did she admit to anything?"

"No. She just keeps saying that this is some kind of mistake and that she has no affiliation with the resistance forces," the soldier said.

Nord dismissed the soldier, and leaned on his hand. "Hmph. She thinks she can get away with that, does she? Maybe I should question her myself..."

At that point, the doors burst open, a different soldier stumbling through them. "Marquess Nord!" he cried, stopping in front him.

"What?" Nord asked, the annoyance of the interruption evident in his voice.

"Excuse my barging in, but there is a messenger from the Lycia Alliance Army here."

Nord paused, a dark smile creeping over his face. "So it's the army that came to clean up the bandits on this isle..."

"It seems they want permission to pass through to Mount Ebrakhm, sir."

Nord chuckled lowly. "This is a great chance to show Lord Arcard our strength, and gain some of his riches. Send out the troops and kill them."

"Yes sir," the soldier replied, "but what about the messenger?"

"Kill him," Nord said simply.

"Understood, sir," the soldier said, turning to leave.

"Don't forget to bring out the ballistae. Those weapons will guarantee our victory. And don't let the enemy capture them!"

"Yes, sir," the soldier said, exiting the room.

_-Lycia Alliance Army Camp-_

"Oh, is that a ballista they have coming out of that castle? Perhaps they're going to welcome us by shooting people out of a ballista...? No... that's just silly. People can't fit in ballistae..." Mark murmured.

Mark stood atop a rock that jutted out from the ground at an angle, which placed the end of it over a wide river. It gave an excellent view of the surrounding terrain, and gave him an equally excellent view of his troops.

"Alright," Mark said, maneuvering down from the rock, "our scout isn't back, they're bringing out heavy weaponry, and I've counted about thirty soldiers from the castle so far. I'm looking for a second on attacking them...?"

"Sir Mark!" Merlinus cried. "Marquess Nord is Etrurian! He would never—"

"Merlinus, I already did the math. He isn't going to shoot people out of the ballistae for us. And this isn't even the time to think about how awesome that would be. Shame-shame," Mark said.

"I suppose if they are bringing out heavy weaponry and soldiers... Are there any bandits around here?" Roy asked.

"If I say no, do we get to attack them?" Mark hopefully asked.

"Only if it's true," Roy replied.

"Take my word?" Mark asked, curling his lower lip in a pleading way.

A thoughtful look came over Roy's face, and in reply to this, Mark rolled his eyes. "Take your time, by all means. I'll just go ask those Berserkers, over there, to give us a little bit more time to think about whether or not we want to fight them."

"...I guess we have to fight," Roy said, however begrudgingly.

_-Nord's Castle-_

"Gonzales! Where's Gonzales?!" Nord angrily yelled.

"Here... I here..." Gonzales said as he walked, lugging a massive axe on his shoulder.

"There's a village to the north, right along the mountains. You understand?"

"Understand," he replied.

"It might be a hidden base for the resistance forces. I want you to go there, and destroy it, village and all."

"Village and all..."

"Right. Now go! A stupid brute like you is only useful in times like these! Get moving."

"I... I..."

"Do you have a problem?"

"N-No," Gonzales stuttered. He turned and left, barely fitting himself through the door.

"He looks like a demon, but he's cursed with that kind heart of his... He must learn that crushing a single village is nothing!" Nord said after the door clicked shut.

_-Mid-Battle-_

"Look, a Pirate!" Mark cried.

As he approached the Pirate, he noted his appearance. He wore a long blue trench-coat. That's all Mark really paid attention to.

"Hm? What You got something to say to me?" he asked.

"Yes. Three things, actually, but one is inappropriate and if I said another you would punch me. Anyway, I'd like to know why you're fighting other pirates, who are our enemy," Mark said.

"Wait, who are you?"

"Mark. Sub-General of the Lycia Alliance Army. And I'm here with Etruria."

"Etruria? You're not on my side, then."

"What if I said please?" Mark said slyly, flashing him a smile.

"Die!" he yelled, rushing at Mark, axe held high.

"Oh Roy, darling!" Mark called.

Roy met the axe with his sword. "Wait!" he yelled. We're fighting against the same enemy!"

The Pirate lifted his axe from Roy's sword, and replied, "What? What do you mean?"

"I don't get it either," Mark said from behind Roy. "We were sent _by _Etruria for bandits and pirates, but it turns out we're fighting against Etruria! So... yeah. Don't kill us."

"Wait... So are you askin' to hire me?"

"No—"

"Yes!"

Seeing Roy's discontentedness, he continued, "Okay, well I'm pretty familiar with the land, here. And you look like you've never been here before, so you could use a guide, couldn't you?"

"Yes!" Mark yelled again. "Roy, to the front!! And... what's your name?"

"Geese."

"Well, Geese, come to the front with me and find the other axe-users, and help them."

_-Later-_

"Sweet Elimine! It's huge!"

'It' let out a beastly roar as it charged passed the battle-lines, swinging the massive axe on its' shoulder wildly.

"Lilina!" Roy called to the young Mage.

It, the beast, was charging right to the bridge she stood on.

"For the love of... You position a unit to get absolutely no fighting time, and what do you get? Giant Pirate's the size of a castle attacking them. What a rip," Mark muttered as he sprinted, as best he could, towards Lilina and the beast.

"Excuse me!" Lilina piped up, the beast sliding to a stop in front of her.

"W-What are you? I'm an enemy!"

"I'm sorry, but you had such a sad look in your eyes."

Mark's jaw hit the ground as he heard that statement. "Lilina! He probably just needs to go to the bathroom! Take him out!" he yelled.

"...There is village near mountain, you know?"

"Yes, I know."

"Let people escape. I take order. I destroy village. So..."

"What! Don't! The people living in that village are innocent." Lilina replied.

"No. I don't disobey order."

"Can't you leave the people who give you orders like that? Leave? I know! You should fight alongside us!"

"Yeah! Do that!" Mark said.

"No... I'm a monster... I can't be with other people. People throw stones... They say 'go away' to me... I'm a monster. Not human."

"But if you join us, people won't throw stones. Except for our enemies. But I'll not let the enemy attack you with stones. I swear this!"

"Okay. I join you."

"Alright!" Mark enthusiastically said as he lifted his hand for a high-five.

Gonzales gave him a high-five.

"Sweet Elimine," he muttered, holding the hand with his other one. "Oh, he's gonna _own_," Mark muttered again, turning to the Bandit, hiding his hand behind his back. "What's your name?"

"Gonzales."

"Okay, Gonzales, you and Lilina just hang out for a while, meet us at the castle, we're about to take it."

And with that, Mark walked over to a bridge, which would allow him to cross the river and capture the castle.

_-The Castle-_

"So you made it here..." Nord mused. "I will take your lives!" he yelled, his hands flying into the air. He threw them down, a small mass of purple energy appearing under Lugh's feet.

"Oh. Damn," Mark muttered to himself as the sphere encompassed Lugh. "A Nosferatu spell... Hadn't seen that one coming." He sighed quietly, turning to Saul.

"Saul, my man, take this for me when the spell lets up. And... Dorothy, snipe him when you have a clear shot. "Wolt, help her."

The energy gathered at the top of the purple sphere, concentrating in a ray of translucent purple, which returned to Nord.

He cackled as the severely weakened form of Lugh was revealed in the wake of the spell.

That cackle was cut short, however, as two arrows struck him; one in his shoulder and one in his chest. He looked down at them, and back up. "Death...? I feel... my life... draining away..." he croaked, as he fell forward, onto the ground, creating a cloud of dust.

_-Later-_

"Master Roy. We couldn't find out why Nord attacked us in the end."

Roy paused, as if to allow Mark a chance to put in a line, but, as he soon noticed, Mark was not there.

The traditional after-battle conversation had commenced, without Mark, as he had disappeared after the battle to an undisclosed location.

"But now there is no mistake that someone is after us," Roy replied.

"I believe we should contact Etruria about this."

"Yes," Roy nodded in agreement, "I'll contact General Cecilia about this."

A soldier walked in to the conversation. "Excuse me, Master Roy. There was a girl whom we found captured in the dungeon. She wishes to speak with you."

"To me? Send her in."

From the door, a girl entered.

Her orange hair was tied in two buns with white ribbon. She had green eyes which matched her green shirt and pants, though she wore a white poofy cloth over her pants and under her shirt. Two pink ribbons were tied to her wrists.

"You are Lord Roy? The one who came to clear out the bandits?"

"Yes."

"Roy, please!" she begged as she sprinted to him and hugged him. "Please rescue my friends!"

"Whoa!" he remarked, prying her arms away from him.

"Hey! Control yourself!" Merlinus yelled angrily.

She released him, but stayed within his comfort zone, while Merlinus glared at the back of her head. "A-Anyway," he said, somewhat red, "let's calm down and talk. Your friends are in trouble?"

She backed away a few feet, and Merlinus calmed by a considerable amount. "My name is Lalum," she began, "and I'm part of the resistance forces here on this island."

"The ones that fight the bandits and protects the inhabitants?"

"Yes," she said, but paused to think. "No..."

"No?" Roy asked.

"Well that's part of our job, but our real enemy is Etruria! They're working with the bandits to take more money and resources from people!"

"What?! Is that true?"

"The Marquesses here are taking people into the mines and working them until they die!" she said. "They never let them rest, even if they're sick of injured..." she trailed off, sniffling for a moment.

"That's awful..."

"So we're fighting the Etrurian Government to protest them! Our next plan was to attack Mount Ebrakhm and rescue the workers..." She trailed off, apparently angry.

"What's wrong?"

"One of the villagers leaked our plan. He was probably tortured, but still... I have to go to the mines and rescue everyone!"

Roy looked her in the eye after she finished. She looked back at him, her face entirely serious. "Alright, then. We'll go to Mount Ebrakhm and rescue the laborers."

"Really?!" she screamed, hugging him again. "Thank you, Roy!"

"Please, Miss Lalum," he said, attempting to push her off, while blushing.

"When I said get off, I meant stay off!" Merlinus yelled, pulling her away from Roy.

"Well, you can use this sword," she said, lifting a sword, from seemingly nowhere.

"What is this?" he asked as she handed it to him.

"It belongs to our leader, Echidna. Because your helping us, I don't think she'll get mad if you use it. It's called a Wyrmslayer. There aren't any dragons any more, but it may be useful against Dragon Knights? Well, I don't really know, but it should come in handy sometime."

_-Immediately after-_

"What? She hugged him? And he... blushed..." Mark trailed off, dabbing at his eyes. "How could this day get any worse?" he asked the roof.

"Sir, I thought it would cheer you up..."

"Thanks for trying, at least," Mark said, rubbing his eyes with his cloak.

"Er, sir, why are you crying?"

"I misjudged my enemy, and picked the wrong approach to... to..." he trailed off, unable to complete his sentence as he blew his nose on what appeared to be a handkerchief.

"Why have you been using your cloak when you have that?" the soldier asked.

"I had _a lot _of mucus that time..."

Jeremy cringed as Mark withdrew the handkerchief from his nose.


	14. Mount Ebrakhm

Wow! I enjoyed writing this chapter, oh-so-much! I believe it may be my best work yet, at 3500+ words, so enjoy, people! Enjoy!

---

Chapter 14: Mount Ebrakhm

---

"Sir Mark, we're approaching the area. Orders?"

"Ugh. I don't feel good. Can we just skip this fight and... you know... not do the fight?"

"I believe that this fight is necessary, Sir Mark."

"What a rip," Mark muttered, rolling onto his stomach. "Well, where are we going to arrive at first? The residential sector, right?"

"Well, sir, they have a large number of homes in certain areas, with roads around them. I think we should alert them to battle, Sir, and have them close their gates and lock there doors."

"Alright, here's what we're gonna do..."

_-Mt. Ebrakhm Entry Gate-_

"I see... So Princess Guinevere is not on the Western Isles."

"We searched all over these islands, and we sent spies into the Lycia Alliance Army, but we could not find the Princess anywhere."

"I understand. I suppose I will search elsewhere, then. Bishop Oro, I thank you for your cooperation with Bern."

Oro smiled. "I pray that you may meet your Princess soon."

"Thank you," she said, turning and leaving the room.

A soldier, in black robes, starkly contrasting in comparison with those of the Bishop, walked out from the shadows.

"Bishop Oro," he said, "who was that?"

"A Dragon Knight from Bern. Her name is Miledy. She was looking for Princess Guinevere."

The Shaman was silent for a moment, as if he was pondering something. "You did not tell her where the Princess was, did you?" It was not a question, but Oro happily answered.

"Of course not. Princess Guinevere is a valuable hostage. When Lord Roartz heard the news that General Cecilia was hiding with Guinevere in Aquleia, he was as excited as when that Bernese Lord agreed to help him command the coup."

"Bishop Oro, I have heard that the walls have ears. I do not think it wise to say such things."

"Oh, yes, I must watch my tongue. I thank you for that. So, why have you come before me, Shaman? I am a holy man, and cannot be seen with your darkness."

"Yes, my lord. It is of the village where the resistance leader is hiding. My men are in position for an attack. I have to come for your permission to begin the battle."

"Ah, excellent. Begin your attack now, before we have any unwanted interruptions from the Lycia Alliance."

"Yes, my lord," the Shaman replied, bowing and exiting.

_-Lycia Camp-_

"So the resistance hideout is one of these villages?"

"Yes," Lalum replied, "but it's possible that the Etrurians have already attacked it."

"I must say that Bishop Oro is a despicable man. He is a Bishop, and should be preaching the words of Elimine to his citizens, but instead he is torturing them."

"We should probably wait for Cecilia's okay... Mark, what do you think?"

Mark looked up. He was sitting on the ground, and had been writing something in a book. He closed it slowly, and looked up.

"Why are you... down there?" Roy asked.

"Well, I've been told that the mind and body should be in sync, and since I feel awful, I figure that I should just sit on the ground."

"Well—"

"Master Roy! Troops from the Castle are attacking the villages!"

Mark sighed. "Alright," he said, standing, "I'll go get everyone ready."

_-Later-_

The battle, for Bishop Oro, was not going too well.

His initial, front-line units, had been decimated, and the enemy had made it all the way to the Southern Gate of the settlement.

"Bishop Oro, it appears that this battle is not favoring you. I will lead my men to the front, and delay them. I believe you know what must be done, in order for our sacrifices to be worthy."

Those were the last words the Shaman had said to him, before he vacated the castle, towards the Lycians.

Oro had grown a thoughtful look, minutes after the shaman had left. If he was to live—if this battle was to be won, the timing would have to be perfect.

"Bishop Oro, the Bernese Dragon Knights have left," a soldier told him, soon after the Shaman had departed.

Oro chuckled darkly, addressing a soldier. "I've got an idea. Tell the bandits around this settlement that the villages are in a confused state. I want them to ransack the villages and collect all the treasure."

"Why of course, my lord, but... why?"

"You forget that I speak for God himself. If anyone tried to accuse me, it would be going against God! Therefore, no one on this island can persecute me! Now go!"

"Yes, My Lord..."

_-South Gate, Mount Ebrakhm Settlement-_

"So, that's the Lycia Alliance Army..." The Sniper trailed off, as he narrowed his eyes in their direction.

"They're supposed to be fighting against the bandits."

Noting his companions' statement, he replied, "I know. But Lord Arcard says they are fighting with the bandits to attack the villages. I can only wonder why they are doing the opposite of what they were assigned to do," he said, a thoughtful look spreading over his features.

She was silent as he pondered.

"Tate, can you take your troops and attack from the north? I'll start the attack from here."

"Yes sir," she replied, mounting her Pegasus.

"Tate!" he called. "Wait," he said, causing her to look back.

"Yes?" she inquired.

"I know that you have siblings," he said.

"Yes. I have two sisters; one older and one younger," she replied, regarding them with pride, and a smile.

"Are they all Pegasus Knights, like yourself?"

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

"Well, actually, I have a younger sister myself."

"She must be very beautiful if she is your sister."

"Thank you. And yes, she is pretty. But I've heard she was tangled up in some mess, and I don't know where she is now."

"What? Oh my..."

"I've sent some people to look for her but they haven't found her... If I wasn't on this mission, I would go look myself..." He trailed off, looking her right in the eye. "Tate, take care of yourself. For your family's sake."

She smiled as she replied, "Yes."

Thanking him, she flew off, west, around the settlement, to the northern border, where she would sortie with her squad.

Klein turned to the nearest Archer, his lieutenant. "All right. Let's go."

"Sir, are you sure?"

"About what?"

"Lord Arcard said to leave the fighting up to Ilia's Pegasus Knights, so that we, the Etrurian Army, suffer the least casualties."

"Don't be ridiculous. They are trustworthy companions. We will attack at the same time, or maybe even before them. Understood?"

"Yes sir," the lieutenant replied in a resigned tone.

_-South Gate, Ebrakhm Settlement-_

"Shit!"

The curse drew Mark's attention, his gaze drifting towards the southern gate. All of twenty archers were destroying his own units.

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh. Look at that. All of twenty archers are destroying my own units." Their skills were evident, and they bore the Etrurian coat-of-arms. The commander stood to the back, he being the most skilled archer in his unit, sniping with deadly accuracy.

As Mark looked him over, something in his mind clicked. That was the son of Pent, and the Archery General of Etruria.

"General Klein, consider yourself fortunate that your father is who he is," Mark muttered.

He turned, the Cavalry having long since disappeared to the north, save for two lone Knights, whom Mark had set aside for this very situation.

He yelled his orders, as he approached the Cavaliers, for the first time that battle. The strategy he had chosen was risky, but it was the only possible way to win without killing any of his enemies.

_-Outskirts, Mount Ebrakhm Settlement-_

Tate soared through the air, her fellow Pegasus Knights following closely. Four in front of her, and four behind.

The Northern gate, just next to the castle became clear in the distance, and she slowed, before landing on the loamy soil.

Her knights followed suit, with her second-in-command landing just to her left.

"Alright!" she yelled to the knights. "Our orders are to move along the north wall, and begin to go southwards at my order."

"Captain. Are you sure we'll be all right?" the second-in-command asked.

"Yes, of course."

The girl sat on her pegasus, the look on her face somewhat hesitant.

"What?" Tate prodded her.

"Perhaps the Etrurian Army means to use us as... disposables?"

"Who says that?"

"Well," the knight said, "one of our group members heard rumors like that from the Etrurian Army."

"If you take rumors like that seriously all the time, you'll never get anywhere," she sternly replied.

"But..."

"Besides, if that were true, it couldn't be," Tate said with a smile. "General Klein wouldn't approve of it."

"Do you really think so?"

"General Klein's not like that. I trust him."

"...Alright. Then we'll trust him as well, for we trust you, Captain."

"Thanks. Let's go."

_-Mount Ebrakhm Settlement-_

"This sucks."

"Not true, Sir Mark. Your strategy was impressive at the South Gate. Not one death—"

"Is the result of myself gambling with the lives of others, on assumptions I could not entirely prove." He paused and took a breath, before issuing a few orders. "And Lance can't fight anymore..."

"Sir, it was on your authority that he was taken out of this battle."

"Yeah... I suck... This sucks... And now I want to eat some high-class food. Ugh. And _now_ there are Pegasus Knights coming to attack us. Fantastic. Have Klein and his Archers head up a unit with Dorothy, Wolt, Sue, and Shin."

"Yes sir."

Mark walked over towards Merlinus' cart, sighing as he hopped onto it, somehow silent, despite the age of the thing.

He knew a Tactician shouldn't leave the battle, much less a siege with enemy reinforcements from who-knows-where, but he didn't really care.

Besides, he had an army fighting, the enemy leader was in sight, and he'd received a powerful Hero, as well as an Etrurian General. Plus, there were the other twenty archers, to back him up.

So did it matter?

_-Mount Ebrakhm Entry Gate-_

The Bishop was not happy.

Knocking a vase off of a table, he yelled, "Are the resistance forces really this much of a problem?!"

"The Lycia Alliance Army!" one of the more cowardly soldiers blurted out, eliciting a heated stare from the Bishop. "They are s-supporting the resistance forces..." he stuttered.

"What?! The Lycia Alliance Army would turn against Etruria?"

"Bishop Oro!" a soldier cried, bursting through the doors, and drawing the Bishop's attention. "We've just received a message from the capitol, Djuto! It says 'The Lycia Alliance is responsible for the murder of Duke Nord. They are suspected to have turned against Etruria. It is also possible that they are working with the bandits. Capture them, or kill them if necessary.' That is all, sir."

"So they killed Duke Nord..." Oro mused. "Well," he said, chuckling, "at least now we have a valid excuse to destroy the Lycia Alliance Army." He chuckled heartily. "Tied in with bandits, eh? How ironic."

"Lord Arcard has provided us with some reinforcements to help us capture the Lycia Alliance Army. They should be arriving shortly," the soldier added.

Bishop Oro chuckled. "Everyone, do not even attempt to waste time, capturing these fools! Kill them outright! Save Lord Arcard the trouble!"

"Yes, My Lord!"

-_Mount Ebrakhm Settlement-_

"Wait. So the Pegasus Knight reinforcements _joined _us?"

"Yes, Sir Mark," the soldier replied.

"Ugh. What a pain." Mark sighed, and continued, "Just have them head up to the Mountain, and clear any resistance over there. Same with the Archers. We'll meet up with them once we have the settlement cleared. Except for Klein and the Pegasus leader-woman, and, at their discretion, their respective second-in-commands. They'll be with us for this battle. If anything changes, let me know."

"Understood, Sir Mark," Jeremy said, departing from the cart, in the direction of a rather large mass of Archers and Pegasus Knights.

Of course, it would happen, that a certain score of cavalry reinforcements had chosen that, particular moment to begin their sortie.

Jeremy immediately rushed back to Mark and gave him warning of the attack.

"Alright, have Bors and Barth command a defense with the Ostian Knight-class units, with Wendy, I suppose. Bring in all ranged units we have to attack from behind the battle line. If they break through... Uh... They won't break through."

"Yes, Sir Mark," Jeremy replied, bowing and turning to leave.

"Wait," Mark said. "Reinforce it with the Ostian Soldier-class units."

"Yes, milord," Jeremy replied, sprinting to the thankfully nearby Knights, and relaying the orders.

As it would happen, due to their slowness, Merlinus' cart was only meters behind the battle-lines, giving Mark a perfect view of the battle ahead.

Mark sat and watched the clash, the Cavaliers attempting to run through the battle-lines, only to be skewered, sniped and struck, by lances, arrows and magic, respectively.

Barth truly excelled in the battle, skewering all enemy forces, and taking charge of the fight. As well, Lilina showed off her ample magical strength, by scorching multiple units with massive, overpowered Fire spells.

However, no strategy, no matter how well-thought-out, is impervious to problems. A few Knights, among them Bors and Wendy, had been struck by Javelins in a sudden and massive volley.

They were at the front of the attack, and, although more units could take their place, they would have to be moved to be treated, or the battle would have to be won quickly.

"Alright, Dieck! Over here. Now," Mark commanded, Dieck running over to him, his massive sword sheathed and strapped to his back. "You, my fine friend, are going to be retrieving fallen Knights from the front. They're heavy, so no sword. The other Knights will cover you. Go for the green-haired on and the pink-haired one first. Bring them back here," Mark quickly said.

"Alright," Dieck said, unstrapping the scabbard from his back and sprinting into the melee.

"Cover the Mercenary with turquoise hair!" Mark yelled as Dieck grabbed Bors' leg and dragged him away, leaving a thin line of red behind him.

"I need a Healer!" Mark yelled. "Or seven!

_-Mount Ebrakhm Entry Gate-_

Roy had been charged with the final fight by Mark, after he had left to check on the injured Knights.

Roy approached the Bishop, as he stared angrily at the young Lord. "Going against me... is the same as going against God! Take your punishment from my hands!" he yelled, lifting and tilting his staff to bring forth a light, which sprang into the air, falling back down and exploding, essentially destroying the ground where Roy had just stood.

Roy had rolled to dodge it, calling to the nearby archers, "Now!" as he stood from the roll, their arrows firing through the air, and shredding the Bishop..

"You... You heathen..." he murmured as he fell to his knees. "I represent..." That, however, was all he got out, as an arrow had silenced him, striking his forehead. A perfect shot.

"Excellently done, Klein," Mark said, as he approached the attackers. "Shall we take the Castle?" he asked them as he walked past the Bishop's corpse, and into the Castle, soon followed by multiple other units, and eventually the entire army.

After securing the perimeter, Mark and Roy had joined each other in a large, relaxing room on the first floor of the Fort which gave entrance to the Mount Ebrakhm mining site.

"Okay, so Klein and Tate have sent their troops to handle all the guards on the mountain. And—"

The door swung open, Mark pausing to look over at Merlinus. "Master Roy, there is a young man here who says he is part of the resistance forces..."

"I'll see him. Let him pass," Roy said.

Mark choked as the boy entered, staring wide-eyed at him. The boy did not seem to notice Mark's display, instead addressing Roy.

"Ah, so you are Roy? Pleased to meet you," he said. "My name is Elphin, and I am a member of the resistance forces here. May I simply offer my thanks for saving our village here."

"No, we just did what we thought was right," Roy replied.

"But now you have rebelled against Etruria" Elphin said. "Certainly you had thought of that before you took action?"

_'Nope. We just thought we needed a bigger sized enemy. Bern isn't quite enough for us,'_ Mark thought, chuckling quietly at his own wittiness.

"Even so, we did what we thought was right," Roy said. "Although what we did was a sign of rebellion against Etruria, if the truth about the islands is made public, they will understand. I have sent a letter to a trustworthy member of the Etrurian nobility."

_'Let's go over who that could be real quick. I think I should start by listing all the members of nobility that Roy has contact with: Cecilia, and... Wait, what? Only Cecilia?Hm... Who does Mark have contact with? Better question: Who doesn't he have contact with?'_ Mark mused again, chuckling once more.

Oblivious to Mark's chuckling, Roy continued, "If she takes the appropriate measures, I'm sure we can tip the tables in our favor."

Elphin replied, sternly, but quietly, "I would not be so sure of that..."

"What do you mean?" Roy inquired.

"Did you ever think it strange," he began, "that Etruria sent you in to get rid of bandits?"

"Actually... Yes of course."

"This is merely a theory, but I believe that the ones who requested your help are the Lords Roartz and Arcard."

"How do you know that?" Roy asked.

"Ask yourselves this question: Why would those two wish to get your army off the mainland? Could there be some kind of problem if you stayed in Lycia?"

"Oh... I never thought about it from that perspective..." Roy quietly replied.

"There are rumors... that Roartz and Arcard are actually tied with Bern."

"What?! Then Lycia would be in danger!" Merlinus piped up.

"Your country would be in peril. Are you sure you want to be wasting your time on a little island like this?"

"He's right!" Merlinus remarked.

"I second Merlinus."

"Bern could have kept us away from Lycia..." Merlinus said, trailing off and piecing it together, "so that they could invade us! We must hurry to return to Lycia."

"I'm not going back," Roy said.

"What?" Merlinus and Mark both replied in unison.

"I can't decide what information is true and what is false. The worst thing to do in these situations is to jump to conclusions. I may be worried about Lycia, but General Cecilia and my father are both watching over it," he resolutely said. "We can't leave without clearing the bandits. If this information is false, then Etruria would be angered at us."

Mark would have argued at this, but Roy's tone was that of a leader; one that did not leave any room for debate. And he was just to proud of the young Pheraen to do anything about it.

Besides, he could settle it later.

"Alright!" Mark said, alleviating the tension which had built up in the silence following Roy's decision. "Who wants to go outside and visit the Arena with me?" he inquired with a large smile.

Elphin and Roy chuckled a little, and Merlinus sighed, before they, save for Elphin, who stayed, exited the room, into the entryway, where a small group of citizens and soldiers had gathered.

At Roy's exiting, one of the villagers walked up to him. "You are Master Roy, correct?" he asked.

"Yes," Roy replied.

"You saved our village," the man said, with nothing but thankfulness and admiration in his voice. "Take this as a token of our gratitude."

"Oh," Mark remarked, snatching the emblem from Roy's hands. "A Hero Crest, huh? I'll be back as soon as I find Dieck, okay?"

Roy shrugged and walked over to the soldiers. "General Klein," he heard one of the Archers say, "we will stay here and reconstruct the area, as you directed us."

"Excellent," Klein replied with a satisfied smile.

"But we wish we could fight alongside you," he admitted. "So we will return to you the arrow you had us keep. Here you go," he said, pulling out a golden arrow, which Klein accepted with a "Thank you."

Tate, the Pegasus Knights' leader was next and last to receive her gift, given to her by her own second-in-command.

"Captain," the Knight said, "we will return to Ilia to make our report."

"Thanks," Tate replied as a somewhat melancholy expression settled over her face.

The Knight smiled in reply, but interrupted the smile to reach into her pocket and retrieve a small item. "Oh, and this," she said, as she handed it to Tate. "Your sister gave me this before we left. Please be careful."

Tate's eyes watered ever-so-slightly, before she replied, "Thank you. You be careful too."

---

And, I will add as an afterthought, RE\/IE\/\/~! You know you want to. You can just see that green button, so tantalizing...


	15. The Real Enemy

So I started this chapter a little bit differently than any of the previous chapters, and I'd like some input on it, if you don't mind.

And 5-digit, and any other people who want to know about Mark being young (and stuff): Mark being young and stuff? What? I thought medieval technology had advanced far enough that they would have cover-up? No? So you want a hint then, do you? Well, I couldn't think of a hint that wouldn't give too much away, but I'll try to include one in the next chapter. And, rest assured, I'll start giving you some information about it in the actual story, as well.

---

Chapter 15: The _Real_ Enemy

---

After the battle with Bishop Oro, and Roy's foolish, as Mark considered it, proclamation that they would, in fact, be heading to the capitol, Djuto, despite the injuries sustained by the Knights of the army, they had begun a slow pace.

Of course, the injured knights had been riding on horses for the travel, and had been sent to bed at night, only to return to their mounts once more for the day's travel.

The morning preceding their arrival at the capitol, Alan awoke with a smile on his face. The day would be good. He would be fighting well once they arrived at the capitol.

And so, he sought out his companion, and, it being the early morning, he knew the Cavalier would be in one of the makeshift infirmary tents, as he had been in the group of injured.

And so that is where he went.

"Lance!" he called, as he ducked his head in one tent, greeted by a furious shushing from the attending healer. "Oh," he quickly said, "sorry!"

He checked all the other infirmary tents, only to have a similar result.

Walking through the camp, he noted the various members of the army rising from their beds. This gave him an idea. He would ask Mark. The Tactician, despite his character, seemed to know all the goings-on of the army, and since he couldn't wake Roy, it seemed to be perfect.

Approaching the Tactician's tent, one of the largest, and identifiable as being the only one sharing the same shade of green as the tactician's robes themselves, he spoke, "Mark?"

No answer.

He ducked inside, calling softly, "Mark?"

"Get out of here or I will kill you," Mark mumbled, rolling over on his 'bed'.

Alan, however, was oblivious to this statement, and prodded Mark's back with a finger. "Die!" Mark hollered, rolling over and just missing Alan's neck with his elbow.

"Sir Mark!" Alan cried, pulling his head from the tent. "I simply—"

"Lance is in the blue and black tent. Now leave," that tactician flatly replied.

"Er, thank—"

"Leave," Mark said. Alan did not dare attempt to thank the tactician, so he turned and began to walk past the rows of tents, searching for the sea-foam hair of his mounted friend.

Locating it only because of Lance's exit, he approached the Cavalier. "Lance!" he called. "How fares your sword today?"

"Neither good nor bad," he replied, beginning to take apart the tent.

Alan smiled. "Cool and calm as always," he said. "The other day I lagged behind you, but not in this battle! Once we arrive at the capitol, you will watch and learn from my skill!"

"Of course I'll watch you fight," Lance replied matter-of-factly. "Still, I have no intention of losing to you from now on, either."

"Well, well, what confidence! I look forward to the result after the battle," Alan said, noting the near completion of the tent. "Alright then, I'll be off. You'd better come quickly, too, or you'll miss breakfast!"

Sighing quietly, Lance left the tent to follow his overenthusiastic companion, in the direction of a large cauldron of something which smelled exotic.

_These battles will only become more challenging from now on, _he thought, reaching for a bowl, only for it to be grasped quickly from a certain disheveled tactician.

He extended it in the direction of the cook, who accepted it with a smile. "You know," Lalam said, pouring some of the stew into the bowl, "this is the first time I have ever cooked for such a big group!"

"I'm ecstatic," Mark replied sarcastically, accepting the bowl ungraciously and walking three steps before plopping down on the grass, and bringing it to his lips.

From the shadows, Echidna, the newly recruited Hero and leader of the resistance forces on the Isles looked down and shook her head slightly. "I'm so sorry for you all," she said.

Mark downed the whole thing in two loud gulps and gagged. "Sweet Elimine!" he yelled. "That stuff... is awful..." he choked, clutching his throat. He opened his mouth and thrust his finger inside, attempting to force himself to throw up, but failing.

Mark was not alone in his reaction, though his was strongest.

Thankfully, for Lalam's sake, Echidna had jumped from the forest and entranced her in conversation over how exactly she made her 'delicious' food.

"Whoa, I don't think... Ugh..." Alan croaked, falling forward to the ground and clenching his stomach, the tears beginning to fall down his cheeks.

"It... isn't that... bad," Lance replied, gagging occasionally, but managing to contain his composure.

From there, the morning dragged on, but somehow, some way, the members of the army felt strangely energetic, and lively, despite the awful substance they had ingested.

As the Capitol building, which doubled as a fortress, incidentally, came into view, Mark had solved the mystery. "I have solved the mystery!" he called from the back of Merlinus' cart. He hopped off nimbly, something never before seen in Mark, and ran over to Lalam.

"Lalam," he said.

She turned and looked at him. "What?" she asked.

"I'd like you to make us all breakfast on the days before we fight battles. Your meal today was..." Remembering the meal, Mark almost lost it, but continued, with almost no audible disruption, "delicious."

"R-Really?! You think so?"

"Yes," he choked out.

"Yay! I should go find Roy, and tell him!" With that, she scampered away in the direction of Roy, leaving Mark to laugh.

"Roy, I pity you, oh so much."

Soon after that, the group paused, meeting a fork in the road, the castle only a few seconds away. Roy gathered with Merlinus, and Mark came upon them just as the conversation started.

"So this is the capitol. Once we take it down, we can go home."

"Master Roy," Elphin said, approaching them from the back half of the army. "I have heard some strange rumors from the people living here. They have said that a 'human, not a human' resides here in this castle."

Roy raised an eyebrow in confusion. "What does that mean?"

"They say he changes form... into a dragon."

"A human? Turning into a dragon?" Roy pondered.

"I cannot say anything at this point—"

"Uh, I might know a little bit about this," Mark said quietly.

"Really? What?"

"Well," Mark began, "I have seen a total of four, yes, four, dragons in my lifetime, all of which were slain in my presence, one of which by my tactics, and may I just say that what the villagers say is quite possible. As for why and how this is, I'll tell you later. But, what I can say, is that we'll need that Wyrmslayer."

_-Castle Djuto-_

Lord Arcard sat unsteadily upon his mount, as he prayed for his success in this battle. Looking up, he noted a wyvern approaching him. "G-General Flaer!" he stuttered, shrinking behind his horse's neck.

The General was a large, and somewhat old man, with brown hair and a mustache. He donned purple armor with teal trim. He glided towards the Etrurian, landing just ahead of him. "Ah, Lord Arcard," he said, inclining his head as a recognition of their different social stature. "Why do you fret so?"

"It is the Lycia Alliance Army!" he blurted out. "They are approaching here to take my head!"

"Oh," Flaer replied in recognition, "them. They are somewhat of a nuisance to us of Bern... We figured it would get difficult if they became friendly with Etruria, so we had you send them here..." he said, pausing to allow Arcard to digest the information. "Well, they fight better than I would have expected."

"What are you saying?!" he screamed. "Do you know how much I have lost because of them?! All the riches I have earned because of these islands... No! Before even that, my life! My life is in danger! If they reach here, I am done for! What must I do?"

Flaer looked uncaring at best. "If you are that worried, then you should leave this capitol, and escape back to Etruria."

Arcard looked at him disbelievingly. "Are you... sure?"

"Warfare is what Bern is best at. And besides," he said, dropping his voice to a mere whisper, "we have our secret weapon at hand. We shall kill off the Lycia Alliance Army, once and for all."

"But..."

Rolling his eyes in annoyance, Flaer decided to end the debate. "Lord Arcard," he said. "If Bern and Etruria join forces, we shall have nothing in this continent to fear. Isn't that so?"

"Yes...Yes! You're right! I shall ask for your assistance," he said, riding his horse off to the staircase and exiting, leaving the throne to Flaer.

As he disappeared from view, Flaer's uncaring look dissipated, replaced with a sneer. "Hmph, the weakness of those Etrurian nobles. But if we can get rid of the alliance here, then these isles shall be ours forever..."

He began to chuckle, but stopped, as the air became heavy. He turned to one of the two staircases in the room, a malicious sight greeting him.

"Ah," he said to the cloaked figure, "there you are, Aine."

"I heard you called," Aine replied, his voice frail, but somehow forceful.

"I will go report the information about Lycia to General Narshen," he said. "I want you to defend this castle while I am away."

Aine was silent for a moment, staring at the General before him, before stating his understanding.

"Huh?" Flaer tore his gaze from the man before him, staring intently at the door. "Who's there?!" he barked, turning after a few satisfying seconds of no movement. "Well, then, I shall be going. I leave the rest to you."

"Understood," Aine said again, this time with a considerably larger amount of force.

As he checked his possessions, he chuckled. "The Lycia Alliance won't stand a chance against this dragon." His chuckle grew into a cruel laugh, as he flew to the staircase, which Arcard had exited, only moments prior.

From outside the wall, a green-haired youth mused to himself quietly, "So that's what a 'human no human' is. And that means that Bern truly has resurrected the dragons... I guess I'll have to act like a soldier to observe the Dragon's powers."

_-Djuto Capitol Building-_

Entering through a passageway, Cath muttered to herself, "This treasure wasn't rightfully earned, so I guess I'll just take it for myself."

She moved past a few pillars, silently and quickly, closing in on a wall.

"Hey!" a voice sounded, making her jump. She turned to face it. "You're..."

"Oh," she said flatly. "You again?" She sighed. "These days, you always appear, and screw up my plans. Do you have something against me?"

"No!" Roy hurriedly replied. "I just... wanted to apologize."

"Excuse me?" she asked,

"The last time we met, I said some pretty harsh things. Like calling you a villain, when I didn't know what you'd gone through."

She looked mildly amused at this. Why go to all the trouble, if only to apologize? "Oh, that?" she inquired. "It's okay. It isn't really bothering me."

"But," he began, "I still think what you're doing isn't right."

The mild amusement turned into a thoroughly amused smile. "You've really got nerve to say that, don't you?"

"So would you give us a chance?"

"A chance?"

"Once this war is over," Roy said, "I will rebuild the villages that were destroyed because of it. I'll be sure to make good use of the taxes citizens pay. So until then, I'd like for you to stop stealing."

She paused, the amusement wiped from her features, and looked him in the eye. "How long would that be?"

"When this war is over... I can't exactly say when," Roy murmured in reply.

"And you expect me to wait patiently until then?" she asked.

"Yes," was his simple reply. "Would that be okay?"

"Why? What do you care?" she inquired. "Why would you even want to help me?"

"Well," Roy began, "without you, we wouldn't have been able to escape Wagner's castle. Though you might not have meant to save us, you did. We can't simply leave our benefactor alone."

"Well, well... It seems, at the rate you're going, you'll get in my way, wherever I go," she softly said to herself.

"As long as you appear in our path," he said, almost smiling.

"I'll stop coming to the battlefields to steal."

"Really?" he asked, apparently not shocked. "Thanks for understanding." He turned to the small number of soldiers who had approached him for orders.

"But you have to let me come with you," she added.

"What?"

"Actions speak louder than words," she said. "I have to see whether you're going to be true to your words or not."

"Okay! Come along, then!" Mark chimed in, approaching the now moderately-sized group. He looked at the Cavaliers that had formed a semicircle around the young Lord. "Okay, I want all you Cavaliers to work on clearing the rest of the building, except for... Alan, Lance, and Noah."

"Understood," the the knights replied in unison.

"And what of us, Sir Mark?" Lance asked.

"You three are going to be helping us storm the Throne Room, because infantry are too slow. So, come with me, and we'll met up with our team," Mark said, walking west at a moderate pace. "Oh, Roy, come with me. Everyone else, holding the entrance you came through. I think we'll be tangling with some reinforcements soon, and... I don't like reinforcements," Mark said darkly.

Approaching a massive, steel pair of double-doors. Eight other units stood around the door, with a certain purple-haired thief leaning casually on the door.

"Okay, Astol, hit me—Er, not me, but the door. Hit the door. With your lockpick. Everyone, charge in behind him, except for Dieck."

Astol fumbled with the lock for a moment, and, hearing a satisfying click, he withdrew his lockpick, and pulled open the doors.

"It's... an old guy?"

"Burn..." the aged man muttered, as a vortex of flame engulfing him, disappearing to reveal a red dragon in his place, with wings made of fire.

Mark recovered first, asking in a small, helpless voice, "Uh, Astol, can you, uh, shut the door again, please?" Hearing no reply from the generally cheery thief, he sighed. "Uh, alright. So, who wants to fight him first?"

It roared, and Mark had to brace himself to keep on the ground. It's head jerked up, and it fell back down, a massive stream of fire barreling towards the party.

_-Later-_

"That was close... The power of a Dragon... It's amazing," Roy murmured.

Elphin joined him at the throne. "A human not a human... This is what that must have meant."

"How many of these does Bern have?" Roy asked.

"Two-thousand, eight-hundred and ninety... two," Mark said, nodding in what appeared to be approval of his answer.

"Really?" Roy asked uncertainly.

"Nope. I actually have no idea. But I would assume that it would be a large, but not massive, number, seeing as they put one all the way over on the Western Isles."

"How do we put up a fight against these... these monsters?!" Roy exasperatedly yelled.

"Master Roy!" Elphin returned, with equal force; something Mark had not expected from the frail Bard. "Please, calm yourself."

"Oh," Roy sheepishly replied, noting the loss of his temper.

"I understand that this situation is a grave one, but you must not lose your head—"

"Uh, hate to burst your bubble, but his head is still there."

Ignoring Mark, the Bard continued, "I understand that you are anxious, but as the leader of this army, you must not set this sort of example for your troops. Please understand that."

Roy, considerably calmed from both Elphin's stern words, and Mark's 'humor', apologized.

Elphin's face softened. "Well, it's a perfectly understandable reaction for someone who just fought a dragon," he said. "But now, we know something that we did not know before."

"What is that?" Roy inquired.

Mark slapped his head, sighing. _Gee, I wonder. Hm... Could it be... that Bern has mobilized dragons? No... Could it be that we know that there is corruption in the Etrurian Government? No... Oh! It's that Lalam's cooking tastes like feet! Of course!_

"Do you not remember? I told you that I believed Lord Arcard was tied in with Bern; now that information is confirmed."

"Oh!" he cried. "If there are Bernese Dragons in the Capitol of an Etrurian Province... So Arcard was working with Bern."

"And that means Lycia is in danger..."

Mark cleared his throat. "Gee... Remember that guy? I heard he was an attractive military tactician. Didn't he say that we should head back to Lycia? Hm... Wow, I feel like an idiot for not listening to him!"

Roy, scarcely managing to ignore Mark, continued. "We must return to the mainland, and inform General Cecilia about this and think of a plan!"

"Yes, but, before we do that, I feel that Mark has something he would like to tell us," Elphin stated.

"I do?" Mark replied with a confused look.

"Yes," Elphin said. "Earlier you said to us that you would tell us about why and how you thought the villagers' were speaking truly."

"Well, back when I was working for Eliwood, we met a person," Mark said, "and learned that dragons' power can be sealed in a dragonstone, so that they can take human form. Long story; don't ask."

Elphin opened his mouth to ask something.

"R-Report!" a soldier stuttered as he sprinted into the Throne Room, stopping when he was out of earshot of the rest of the company. "I have a message from Etruria... A rebellion has occurred in the Capital of Aquleia."

"What?!" Merlinus hollered, having just arrived. "Who is responsible for this?"

"The rebel leader is Lord Roartz, but Lord Arcard has, and this has been confirmed by Roartz, joined as the second-in-command. They have captured King Mordred, and they're saying that they intend to divide ownership of the world between Bern and Etruria."

"No... The two most powerful nations in Elibe, joining forces..." Merlinus murmured.

"Is General Cecilia all right?!" Roy furiously asked. "And what about Princess Guinevere?"

"W-Well, sir, we don't exactly have accurate information... But is appears that the Three Etrurian Generals have split up. General Cecilia has escaped, and he is headed to the isle of Misul in the west."

"And what about the other generals?" Roy continued.

"Er," the soldier continued, "they have joined the Rebellion, because King Mordred has been held hostage."

"We need to contact Cecilia, and Princess Guinevere..." Roy muttered. "General Cecilia, please be safe."

---

Okay, so there wasn't necessarily any information on Mark himself, sure, but, FE 6 is a long game, and, with Gaiden chapters, we've a while to go, yet.

And remember to REVIEW about how I began this chapter... you know, with Alan, rather than with a quick scene with Mark before a battle.


	16. The Axe of Lightning

Long Author's Note, this time. Sorry.

First of all, I'd like to apologize for not updating in a looong time. The first thing that should be said is that it isn't my fault. I was on vacation.

Yeah, um, y'know, I was thinking about bringing Bartre in, but I have yet to gain access to the B chapters, and I can't find them on the internet. But I really want Bartre to come in, because, well, it just isn't Fire Emblem without him. So I'm just going to have him, sort of... appear after having wondered around for a while.

And the four dragons that Mark knew were Ninian, and the three fire dragons at the end (Ninian owned two of them and Mark dictated the attacks that led to the third one's defeat). I suppose it should have been five, counting Nils, but he wasn't ever in dragon form, so...

Yeah. Chapter 16 is short (barely reaching 1,000 words), and nothing much happens except for the gaining of the Armads, and the report from a soldier. So it's sort of filler. But it's funny.

---

Chapter 16: The Axe of Lightning

---

"So they left. Again! Just because I'm a little bit crabby in the morning doesn't mean that they should be leaving me behind."

Mark had been ranting for at least twelve minutes, Jeremy having begun counting out of shear boredom. Though he was counting, he still managed to give his replies at the correct intervals.

"Sir Mark," Jeremy said for the umpteenth time, "you told them to continue without you, and you even told them to bring a Thief and watch out for poisonous gases."

Mark looked like he was about to reply angrily, but closed his mouth and turned around, staring off into space.

Jeremy ceased his counting. For the better part of the past twelve minutes, they had gone down the same path, Mark ranting and Jeremy presenting his counter-rant, and so-on and so-on.

"Is there something wrong, Sir Mark?" Jeremy asked.

"Yes. But I'm not going to deal with it now, and I probably won't for a good, long while, if ever. Oh, I really hope I don't have to deal with it. I hate those sorts of things."

"Er, what sorts of things, Sir Mark?" the soldier inquired.

"If I have to address the issue, I'll tell you, but I'll just say that the last time I had to deal with it, I had to hire a clown to speak for me. Needless to say, clowns are for children, and shouldn't be ex-cons, and shouldn't carry knives with them if they're short-tempered. Awful, awful day," he said with a shudder.

"A... A clown?" Jeremy asked, suppressing a chuckle.

"Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time. And by 'at the time', I mean before he pulled out the knife." Mark paused. "You know, after we subdued him, I offered him a position in our army, provided he would lose the clown-like attire. I will remember the words he said for the rest of my life: 'How dare you offer me a position in your filthy army, you bastard! Making children laugh is my life!' You would think it was funny, but it was actually very, very scary."

Jeremy had chuckled multiple times during Mark's musings, and barely managed to restrain the grin that begged to break out onto his lips, the result being a strained look on his face, with a bit of discomfort.

"Good God, Jeremy!" Mark yelled. "Just let it out. There's a bush right behind this cart, you know. I don't think anyone would see you. I could stand guard if you want."

All signs of amusement vacated Jeremy's face. With a very pleased look on his face,

Mark replied, "Yeah. That's what I thought."

"Well, Sir Mark, in retrospect—"

"For the love of... Keep it down!" Mark barked, so fiercely that Jeremy felt the urge to crawl under a rock. "Yes, I mean you!"

"Sir Mark, is something the matter?"

"No, not at all. Please continue," Mark nonchalantly replied, turning to face the thoroughly confused Jeremy.

"Who were you screaming at?"

"I wasn't screaming."

"But just a second ago..." Jeremy trailed off.

"Jeremy, you do know that the herbs in the medical tent are for sick people, right? You weren't getting into them, were you?" Mark slyly inquired, leaning towards the soldier with one eyebrow arched.

"No—of course not!" he indignantly replied, adding "Sir Mark" soon after.

"Well then, I'm going to ask Clarine if anything is missing."

"Lady Clarine is with Master Roy, looking for the Divine Weapon."

"No, she's right over there. They got back, like, fifteen minutes ago," Mark said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"But-But you've been, for lack of a better term, ranting about them leaving you for at least that long! Why didn't you go confront them about it?" Jeremy exasperatedly yelled.

Mark gave a melodramatic sigh. "Jeremy, know you nothing of etiquette?" he asked. "Never mind. I'm going to go speak with them, in _civil_ conversation."

And with that, Mark hopped off of the cart, and brushed past the soldier.

"What up, y'all?" Mark loudly asked as he approached Roy.

A few eyebrows raised at that statement.

Mark sighed. "Okay, for those of us who are verbally challenged, that means, 'Greetings, is there currently anything important happening?' Like the retrieval of a Divine Weapon for example?"

"We found the Armads," Roy said with a smile, "Dieck is bringing it back. Thanks for the tip about the walls."

"Yeah. Did Astol find any treasure?"

"Yes—"

"Master Roy!"

Roy, Elphin and Mark turned to see a portly soldier with an ostentatious mustache rushing towards them, and sweating profusely. "Master Roy!" he said, in between ragged breaths. "A Rebellion has broken out in Aquleia!"

Roy's mouth fell open. Elphin's eyebrows rose. Merlinus looked flabbergasted. Mark looked unfazed.

"The Rebel Leaders are the Etrurian Lords Aroartz and Arcard. They have captured King Mordred, and they announced their plan to divide ownership of the world between Etruria and Bern."

"No... The two strongest nations in Elibe joining forces... Is General Cecilia all right? And what about Princess Guinevere?"

"W-We don't have accurate information," the soldier stuttered. "But as far as we know, the Three Generals have split up. The Sorcery General has escaped from Aquleia, and is heading to the island Misul."

"And what about the other generals?"

"They have joined the rebels due to King Mordred being taken hostage."

"See, that's the problem with the Feudal System these days," Mark soberly said. "If the good king goes down, everybody's screwed. That's where we need a governmental system in which the power is given to the people, and they elect representatives. Anyway, what are your orders, General Roy?"

"We need to contact General Cecilia," Roy said.


	17. Rescue Mission

Mark: Hey, everyone! Bob wants to thank Ellis for the help/advice, and would like for her to continue reviewing, and also he wants to make note a of a minor time... gap, sort of thing, between Waldstein's appearance and the company's time on Misul. About two weeks for that boat trip, I would surmise, but, were the author of this story to arrive, I'm sure we could pinpoint the exact—

Bob Schwartz: What are you doing here? I'm the author—this is my town.

Mark, forgetting about previous paragraph: I dunno, you're the author.

Bob Schwartz: I have a feeling that some lesser being just made an attempt to mock me.

Mark: Well, I don't know about any "lesser being", but _I_ certainly just mocked you. Now start the story, lazybones, lest I sic my army on you.

Bob Schwartz: Well, I never...

---

Chapter 17: Rescue Mission

---

"Mark?"

The call dragged the rather bored tactician from his empty thoughts. "Yeah?" he asked, but otherwise remained unmoving.

"Mark! It's good to see you!"

The sound of the voice vaguely familiar, Mark lazily rose from Merlinus' temporarily unmanned cart, shielding his eyes from the obscenely bright sun as he made to identify the voice. Though he couldn't see the the man's actual features, he made out a few things. The beastly figure... the deep voice...

"Bartre?" he guessed.

"Mark!" the massive figure cried, pulling the tactician from the cart and engulfing him in a bone-crushing hug.

"Bar..tre... Choking... throat..."

"Oh!" Bartre immediately released the tactician, who landed in a heap on the dirt below.

Pushing himself up, Mark found himself dwarfed by the massive figure before him. "Um. So... Wow. Been a while, huh?" he awkwardly said.

"Indeed it has!" the Warrior agreed, clasping Mark on the back with enough force to make him move forward a few paces, before catching himself. "So, Mark, aside from war, what have you been doing as of late?"

"Well, you know... this and that," the tactician vaguely supplied.

"I'm not quite sure I see what you mean."

"I was in Sacae for a time, then Ilia, Bern, passed through Lycia to Nabata, rounded through the Western Isles to Etruria," Mark said quickly. "Then I headed back to Lycia until this war. But enough about me, what about you?"

Bartre's mood dampened considerably.

"Oops. Did I say something?"

"Yes, well. Karla—do you recall her?"

"Yes. Reminds me a little bit of—oh," the tactician suddenly said in realization. "Bartre, plus Karla, equals Fir... Right."

"My daughter is in this army?" Bartre inquired, perking up instantly.

Smiling at his friend's shockingly intelligent maneuver to change the conversation, Mark answered, "Yes. I think she's... somewhere. I don't really know, but we'll be on all of two boats on our way to Misul, so I think you'll be able to sight her, provided—"

Energy restored, Bartre roared, "Yes! Yes, excellent! I shall find her!"

Mark watched him run about the camp. _Seems he's grown a brain, _the tactician mused as he crawled back into the cart, to relax and await the journey that would take them to the resistance headquarters of some sort of Etrurian Coup D'etat resistance group, who a had a name so long that Mark hadn't taken the time to memorize it.

---

The room was lavishly decorated, various chandeliers hanging over a royal red carpet, leading to a three-step staircase. Past the staircase was an ornate throne, atop which a man sat, his legs crossed as he swished a glass of red wine.

Two large oak doors slammed open, five soldiers marching through them, heads held high.

"Ah, you've arrived," the man atop the throne greeted them as he took a sip from his wine.

"Yes, my lord," they all replied in unison, as they continued down the carpet. Arriving at the three steps, they each knelt down on one knee, one fist across their chests.

Jumping straight into the discussion, Waldstein addressed the soldiers, "No doubt the Lycia Alliance has heard of our latest triumph in Etruria. As it is, they have few moves to make.

"As you no doubt know, the Sorcery General has gathered a small army, and stationed it on the western island of Misul. I believe they will head here, and attempt to lift the siege we have imposed upon it. I believe this so strongly, that I will not even list the other possibilities," the lord added. "We will be send the Knight General, Percival, to handle this matter, with a small unit of Bernese Dragon Riders. And place the Great General on standby."

"Yes, my lord," the quintet of soldiers replied, rising and saluting before marching out.

"Stephen. Wait."

A soldier paused in his walk and turned to face the man atop the throne. "Yes, my lord?"

"I would have you personally deliver a message to the king," the man said. "Tell him..." He trailed off, mentally arranging the message. "Tell him that I do not think he should give Narshen any important tasks, as his failures have led me to believe that he is inadequate for the post assigned to him."

"Yes, my lord."

"And one more thing. Tell the king that if he plans to break the deal, he should be wary of the more zealous Etrurians. That is all."

"Yes, My Lord Waldstein."

---

Peering through a spyglass, Mark took note of the forces across two bridges, and a large castle, housing a good eighty units. "Money on Bern," he murmured, collapsing the thing, and stowing it in his cloak.

"What?" Roy asked.

"Bern is going to destroy the resistance forces," Mark matter-of-factly said. "I predict we have about ten minutes to get there before they've been obliterated."

"So we must hurry to take the castle!" Roy exasperatedly replied.

"Yeah. Sure. How about you take that half of the army, and I'll take this one, and you head north, and then along the bridge, and we'll go west and then north," Mark said, turning and beginning the walk away. "Last one to the castle has to sleep outside!" he added as he motioned for his half of the units to join him.

Mark strode to the foot of a bridge that went westward. "Okay, let's assume two-winged cyclops formation, with winged reinforcements, and a sniping option or seven," he said, facing the then-baffled troops. "Oh. Right. You don't know what that is. I'd like Dieck to charge straight down the middle, with Noah and... Damn, what's your name? Uh, Track? Yes! Track, flank Dieck's other side. Thany, you be prepared to swoop down after we handle those ballistae, and, everyone with a bow should be behind our front line. Fir, be ready to swap for Dieck's position, and everyone else, be on standby. Got it?"

Unsure nods greeted the tactician, as his half-army mounted their positions.

"Treck."

The brown-haired mercenary turned to see his companion, Noah, trotting over to him. "Yes, Noah?"

"It's pretty funny," Noah said, smirking some. "The tactician forgetting your name, I mean."

"I wouldn't expect more. I mean, we're mercenaries. It happens."

"True, but still, don't you think...?"

"No," the Cavalier drearily responded, increasing his speed, and leaving his comrade in the dust behind him.

"I wish I could be so relaxed..." the knight mused as he neared the mercenary.

"Same."

Shocking him off of his horse, Noah rubbed his head gingerly, muttering something about oddly hard ground.

"That doesn't look good," Mark muttered, looking the Cavalier over. "Zealot! Take over for this guy! Fir! Over here, and make sure Noah gets better and..." Mark trailed off, stroking an imaginary goatee as he looked over his half-army. "Uh, Bartre, replace Fir, and make sure Dieck doesn't get hurt."

Fir jogged over, an uncomfortable look plastered onto her face. Leaning over to Mark, she whispered, "Why do I have to switch out to be with Noah?"

"I think you have an idea," Mark knowingly replied, turning the Myrmidon a bright shade of red. "Points for me, and my intuition," he added as he walked towards the quickly-advancing force, pulling out his spyglass again.

"What's this?" Mark murmured as a scene came in to view. A large, armored man stood across from a female on a horse, who he judged to be a Valkyrie. Confirming his suspicions, large crescent-shaped shards of energy formed, making a failed attempt to slice through the armored figure. In reply, the figure lifted his scepter to the sky, and with a flash of light, it became a massive sword, which he swung on the ground, the result being a massive shockwave of energy sending the Valkyrie flying off of her horse. "Well, well. It seems the King of Bern is in town. And he didn't even invite me for tea? Bastard. I suppose that's just one more reason for me to oppose Bern: Discourtesy."

"Orders, Sir Mark?"

Mark, without folding the spyglass, turned to the soldier, jumping in surprise as he looked at a magnified eye. "Good lord, Jeremy!" Mark remarked. "Your pupils are the size of tomatoes! Have you still been getting into the medical tent?"

Pulling the spyglass from Mark's eye, Jeremy repeated his question.

"Yeah, fine. What's the scoop?"

"We've made it to the small island and have fortified our position."

"Continue along the second bridge and hold the position at the edge," Mark instructed, attempting to snatch the spyglass, and failing miserably. "Also, when Fir and Noah return—" he chuckled "—if they return- have Noah switch out with Zealot, and Fir with Dieck—provided the situation allows it."

"Yes, Sir Mark," Jeremy said, handing the spyglass to Mark, who, after receiving it, glared at the soldier's retreating form.

Reopening it, he walked along the bridge toward the front, peering through the thing. The King had taken up a position just in front of the castle. And, it appeared, that a slim woman was being herded out of the structure by an equally slim but armored man who he assumed was the General Narshen, who he figured to be a pedophile.

"...Mark...?"

There was some conversing, before the woman was rushed back inside, roughly.

"Sir...Mark...!"

Mark noted that the slim woman had been the Princess of Bern.

"Sir Mark!"

"What?!" Mark barked as he turned to a shocked Jeremy. Mark moved his face so it was inches from Jeremy's own, before whispering something unintelligible.

"What?" Jeremy inquired, moving his ear close to Mark's mouth.

"JEREMY!" the tactician hollered as loud as he could, causing the soldier to clamp his hands over his ears, and fall to his knees, eyes shut. "Okay," Mark continued, "I believe we're even now. So, what did you want to know?"

"WHAT?"

"WHAT DID YOU WANT TO KNOW?"

"WHAT OUR NEXT COURSE OF ACTION IS GOING TO BE!" Jeremy yelled.

"YOU DON'T HAVE TO YELL!" Mark yelled back.

"WHAT?!"

"I SAID YOU DON'T HAVE TO—oh, for the love of... JUST PROCEED WITH CAUTION, AND SURROUND THE CASTLE!"

"YES, SIR MARK!" Jeremy said with a salute, before rising to a shaky stand and stumbling away.

"Note to self: find more constructive punishments—that is to say, things that don't negatively affect me... like forcing people to massage my feet. Good lord, I need a foot massage," Mark muttered as he pulled open the spyglass and peered at the castle again.

A wyvern came flying from one tower, the highest of the castle, pausing in mid-air, before flying towards Roy's company at a moderate, even leisurely speed. The King departed as well, though he headed in a different direction. "What in the world?" a befuddled tactician murmured as the wyvern, which had two riders, one of which being identified as a princess, came towards Roy party, the ire of arrows lessening as she landed softly, dismounting with the princess.

Mark wished he could hear the words they exchanged.

"Are you General Roy?" the knight inquired as she approached the young lord. Several standby units had come to stand near the scene, poised to attack should attack become warranted.

"Yes," he replied after a short moment of silence. "And you are?"

Previously unnoticed, the Princess of Bern hopped off of the wyvern, and advanced upon the duo. "Roy!" she called as she found herself in front of her guard.

"Princess Guinevere?!" Roy practically yelled in shock.

"Yes. I escaped with her—" she gestured to the knight "—assistance."

Positioning herself in front of her princess, and, more importantly, between her princess and Roy, who, up until that point had been her enemy, she introduced herself as Miledy. Guinevere quickly swapped positions with her, by placing herself between Miledy and Roy, addressing the latter of the two.

"Roy," she said, "General Cecilia is alive."

Roy made what could only be described as a happy noise, a relieved smile present on his features as she continued.

"Yes, she is alive, but she has severe wounds, and is in a prison cell right now."

"We have to rescue her!" Roy resolutely said, thanking her for the information as an afterthought. Peering over to see Mark's progress, he noted that they were engaging a particularly large deployment of enemy troops.

_I wonder if Mark really would sleep outside..._ Roy mused, before commanding his army to advance, and for Clarine and Dorothy to 'buddy up' and cover the frontliners.

Lobbing a fireball at an incoming soldier, Clarine checked the four units who were holding the front. No troubles.

She looked for Dorothy, the Sniper who was to help cover the front with her, and failing. Approaching a man, she intended to ask him if he could point her out to him. _Lollygagging is not a trait that a lady should harbor, _she pointedly thought.

She opened her mouth to ask him, and shut it immediately.

It was not a man, who she had come upon. "Oh," she murmured, unable to stop it from escaping her lips. "You..."

Turning to her, Dorothy donned a kind smile. "Me? Yes?"

"Why are you dressed in men's clothes?" Clarine asked, regaining some composure.

Suddenly looking self-conscious, Dorothy checked her outfit. "Is it... strange?"

"Of course!" Clarine remarked, in a voice so shrill that Dorothy found herself barely able to keep from clasping her hands over her ears. "A lady must wear elegant dresses! You must be dressed properly when you fight."

(_Oh, so by 'properly' you mean that you must wear a skirt so short that the enemies would be ogling at you until you charred them with a fireball, right?_)

"Really?" she inquired, the two taking a pause in the conversation to launch their respective attack patterns, felling a good number of enemy soldiers, and weakening many of the others.

"No," Dorothy continued, as they began to move onward across the bridge, "I suppose you're right. I don't know anything about such matters..."

"Hm... I see. Well then," she said in a resigned tone, "I suppose I have to teach you everything I know, then."

"What?" the Sniper blurted out. "N-No! I wouldn't do well in such things..."

"Don't be ridiculous!" Clarine sturdily replied. "A lady must always be beautiful! No gentleman would ever look at you if you look like that!"

"D-Do you think so?" she stuttered, wondering. _Well, she is offering... _"All right! Please teach me, Lady Clarine!"

"Excellent! Your first lesson shall come following this battle!"

The remainder of the fight passed with little incident, save for a remarkably speedy charge on Roy's part—mainly owing to the absence of Etrurian units that had been positioned to the direct west of the castle, and an obscenely difficult passing on Mark's end, from two ambushes led by Hero-class units.

Arriving at the castle, and, after a quick skirmish with Flaer, the final enemy, Roy rushed in, finding a wounded Cecilia and a lavender-haired girl.

"General Cecilia!" Roy called as he stopped ahead of her.

"Roy, I have made a fool of myself," she said.

"No, of course not—I am glad that you are alive. But," he said, taking note of the large red splotch that had seeped through the gauze wrapped around her abdomen, "what of your wounds? Are you all right?"

_Good lord. I would say something sarcastic, but I don't have the energy, _Mark thought, as he ambled in.

"Yes. This girl treated me," Cecilia said, moving aside and gesturing to the short, lavender-haired girl behind her.

_Oh my God I know her... But from where? Come on, Mark, think. Brainpower—activate! The Bread File... The Lead Dial... The Red Trial... The Head Mile? No... The Dread Isle! That's it!_

Pleased with himself, Mark decided to once again participate in conversation.

"Yes..." the girl, who had identified herself as Sophia while Mark was thinking, said. "Arcadia, our home, lies far to the east of the Nabata Desert... We try to stay an isolated people, but Bern found out about us and..." She trailed off, dabbing her eyes with the darker purple robes she wore.

"They attacked you?" Roy asked.

"Yes. I was... too slow, and they captured me."

"But why would Bern attack a small village like yours?"

Sophia began to answer, only to have Mark kindly, and much more quietly than usual, ask if he could answer. At the girl's nod, Mark began. "Two things. One, Arcadia does not equal a small village. It's more like a medium-sized or a large village. And second, they most likely attacked to obtain the Divine Weapon Forblaze. Or the Dragons. Or both..."

"Dragons?!" Roy cried.

"Yes. Arcadia was built by dragons and people together, a long, long time ago."

"Such a place exists..." Merlinus muttered, causing Mark to jump and ferociously chastise the merchant for sneaking up on him.

"So, we'll be off to the village of dragons and extremely soft-spoken children... tomorrow?" Mark suggested, looking around for support, only to find Cecilia, Roy and Sophia walking away from the tactician. "Guys?"

_-Afterwards-_

"It's not fair."

Roy chuckled lightheartedly. "Oh, I'm sorry, just _what _isn't fair, Mark?" he asked, the gleeful child in him shining through. He and Mark were in a relaxing room, the goings on of the day having long-since ended.

"I had all the weak units!" Mark yelled, outrage filling his voice. "You had Rutger, and Clarine and Dorothy! And Lance and Alan! And I was ambushed! Twice! And all the enemy units on your end _retreated_!"

"I had more enemy reinforcements than you," Roy pointed out. "And you had the new Warrior—Bartre. I saw him. He was very powerful."

"Let's make a list, then, shall we? Roy: Rutger, Clarine, Dorothy, Lance, Alan, and the enemy retreated. Mark: Dieck, Bartre. Fir doesn't count, because she had to tend to the wounds of one of my units."

"I still won."

The words were true, and Mark would have to sleep outside for the night. "Fine," Mark finally said, a hint of a resigned tone evident in the word. "When dinner is over, I will make my way outside and sleep in Merlinus' cart."

Roy smiled from ear to ear.

Mark could have slapped him—and would have, had two knocks on the door not sounded. "What?" the tactician complained.

"Dinner is ready!"

Mark looked from the door to an absolutely vibrant Roy. "You are a very lucky boy. Lucky that I am not physically dominating you, and lucky that it is dinner time," Mark said as he stalked out the door, slamming it rather loudly and making a still-smiling Roy flinch behind him.

Dinner had a cheerful energy, Clarine educating Dorothy to the etiquette of dining, Mark glaring at Roy, and Roy conversing with everyone around him. Food was served on pristine white dishes, something new and much-appreciated by the Lycia Alliance Army. The food itself was even better.

As the festivities wound down, and people left, Mark stayed, taking gargantuan bites of the various meats, and glaring at Roy as he chewed it. Eventually, Roy and Mark were the only two people left, Roy returning Mark's glare with an amused stare. Taking a final bite of chicken, Mark rose dramatically from his seat, pushing his chair out several inches. As he walked out, Roy heard him yell one last thing: "At least I still have my dignity!" before disappearing into the night.

Mark surveyed the grounds around himself as he exited the castle. _Well, _he thought, _if I'm going to spend the night out here, I may as well do it in style._ Approaching a small portion of beach, the tactician slid his feet under the sands, the residual heat of the day warming his toes.

He laid on his back, watching the stars with his hands behind his head. The image of calm. A beautiful ocean, a beautiful beach, and a beautiful night sky.

"Shit!" Mark hollered, bolting upright and grasping his elbow, gingerly feeling the afflicted area. He quickly looked down at the sand where his arm had just been.

"Oh?" he asked, to no one in particular. "What's this?" He picked up the small creature in his hands and looked it over. "As a show of mercy, and because I cannot destroy you in revenge, you shall hereby be named Julius."

---

Bob Schwartz: Heh. What is Julius? Any ideas? Look forward to the next chapter, in which Julius shall be identified. Also, if anyone cares, I give out some information on my profile, as to the whereabouts of each chapter.

Mark: Oh, so _now_ you care about your readers?

Bob Schwartz: I love my readers!

Mark: So much so, that I had to thank them for reviewing and giving helpful information.

Bob Schwartz: I was about to do that.

Mark: Riiight.

Bob Schwartz: Thanks, reviewers, and please continue doing what you are doing, because it makes me write faster. Also: This is the longest chapter yet. Woot. (3,781)


	18. Arcadia

Mark, reading the reviews for Mark's Back: …

Bob Schwartz: What?

Mark: 'A break from Mark'? I'm offended.

Bob Schwartz: …

Mark: What?

Bob Schwartz: Mark, don't be a baby.

Mark: … *Chokes Bob Schwartz*

Clone of Bob Schwartz: Ehem. While those two settle their differences, I will be making all authoritative... authoritarian... narrative remarks. First off, I would like to thank my reviewers, for being awesome and reviewing. Secondly, I would have to say that Bartre is a veteran Warrior, and, for the purposes of this story, the equivalent of Dieck in power. Also, Mark _did_ have Lugh, and perhaps Shin, who are awesome, but, in all honesty, I forgot about them. I promise to never make such a grave error in the future. Mark wasn't meant to come off as a stewing child, in the previous chapter, but he's Mark. Come on. And, lastly, Mark has sort of... rented out Jeremy as his own slave (of sorts), and he does fight, after delivering orders, before heading back to the tactician. And they don't always hang out. Mark just lies on Merlinus' cart, and Jeremy gets bored, I suppose.

Bob Schwartz, shaking Mark's hand: Glad we settled that.

Clone of Bob Schwartz: Am I to surmise that the two of you settled your differences?

Bob Schwartz: Yes, thanks for the A/N by the way. I'm just going to apologize for the Author's Notes' length, and advise you to read the chapter, now. Enjoy (And review, of course).

---

Chapter 18: Arcadia

---

The battle, for the Lycia Alliance Army, was going in a way that could be considered mediocre, if not awful. For one, the army had been deprived of their pre-battle energizing breakfast and lunch, which, although heavily boosting morale (it was made by Lalam), severely decreased awareness and energy. Another was the vicious sandstorm that had suddenly appeared from nowhere, as was custom in the desert of Nabata.

However, none compared to the absence of the famed and extremely skilled tactician, who had brought them through victory after victory. As such, Roy, who had never fought in a desert, and had only a vague understanding of the limits of movement in such terrain, had to take over tactical command.

"Man, what is that idiot doing?" one of the Ostian soldiers, by the name of Carl, muttered as he thrust his lance into a nearby Mercenary.

"I know!" his compatriot, Tim, agreed as they relaxed some in the absence of enemies. "I thought he was was some, 'world class tactician'! Where's the tactics, you know?"

"It's like we're being led by a whole different person!"

Oh, and the army didn't know about it.

Roy, hearing their dismay, attempted to shrink inside his armor. Admittedly, he had come in with a little too much confidence, advanced perhaps a bit to quickly, and hadn't had a masterful knowledge of who fought best and worst with each other. Adding the storm, the sand, and the vast number of enemies only made it worse.

"Jeremy!" Roy called.

In Mark's absence, Jeremy had simply fallen in with the other knights, still retaining a close distance to the young lord.

"Yes, Master Roy?"

"Go and get Mark and see why he isn't out here."

"Sir, I have already tried six times."

"Just do it again," Roy said with a heavy sigh.

Sighing, the soldier replied a respectful yes, before walking back towards Merlinus' cart. On the opposite side of the army. Walking through sand. Sand.

Leaving Roy to sigh again, and prepare himself for a new assault of troops. Two charged him. He ducked and rolled to avoid their slashes, slicing through the nearest of the two, and lunging for the other, slashing through his chest, a red point protruding from the opposing side. Ducking, he dodged a swipe from the other, before ripping out the sword and pierced the man's leather armor, retrieving it and watching the body fall to the ground.

Another thing about being the leader of everything: all the blood on your hands was amplified by about ten times, and it pressed on you even more. Sure, his cause was a righteous one, but killing was killing. Murder was murder. Roy wondered how the tactician dealt with the pain. Even moreso, he wondered if Mark felt any pain at all, for the dead.

"Shit! It's a—"

The scream tore Roy from his thoughts, snapping his head to attention. Before him stood a mighty dragon, breathing its' fire on to the two soldiers ahead of him. Roy stepped one step back, then two, tightening his grip on his rapier.

"Master Roy," Jeremy called, as he slowed to a stop behind the lord, "I couldn't get him t—oh, sweet Elimine, is that a dragon?"

Roy swallowed. "Go and ask him again." Another swallow. "Oh, and send in everyone, if you could."

---

"Sir Mark! Sir Mark! Orders?"

"Busy."

"Busy?!"

Eight times, Jeremy had sought council with the tactician, and eight times, he had been met with the very same word: Busy. "Busy." As if anything was more important than fighting a large detachment of the Bernese Army. In the desert. During a sandstorm. Against _two _of those beasts.

"What could you possibly be doing in the middle of a battle?!" the soldier shrieked, ripping a few strands of hair from his head, a look of exasperation etched into his features.

"Teaching."

"Who are you teaching?!"

"Julius," the tactician matter-of-factly replied.

Four out of the aforementioned eight attempts, he had made it to this point, only to be answered with the name Julius. Of course, none of said times he hadn't even attempted to ask who Julius was, for fear of the insanity that would ensue.

Taking a deep breath, Jeremy asked, the direness of the situation scarcely outdoing his fear of the tactician's foolishness, "Who is Julius?"

There was silence for a moment.

"Sir Mark?"

"Yes?" Mark asked, in a tone suggesting he had forgotten about the conversation, and, more importantly, the battle at hand.

"For the love of Elimine," Jeremy muttered as he, for the first time that day, climbed aboard Merlinus' cart and approached the seemingly relaxed tactician. "Who are you whispering to?" Jeremy asked.

"Gah!" Mark yelled as he shot up high enough for his head to penetrate the cloth roof of the wagon, something held tightly in his hands. Pulling his head from the roof, with some effort, he found himself landing on the wooden floor with a thud. "Ow..."

"Er, are you alright, Sir Mark?" Jeremy asked, the corners of his mouth tugging upward in a hint of a smile.

"Peachy," Mark sarcastically replied, rubbing his head and bottom.

"So, what were you whispering about?"

Moving to a criss-cross sitting position, the tactician looked left, and then looked right, before addressing the soldier before him in a quiet voice. "I suppose I can tell you." He opened his hands to reveal the thing clutched inside them.

"A HERMIT CRAB???" Jeremy inquired.

"So that's what it is," Mark murmured. "I suppose a more appropriate name would be Hermy, then, but I think Julius suits him fine, don't you?"

"It's... Well, I don't mean to be rude, but it's _a hermit crab_, Sir Mark."

"No dip," Mark said flatly, "you already said that. I asked if you thought the name Julius suited him well, or not. Please answer, as he still hasn't learned to sit on command, and I think it would please me greatly if we could finish today."

Jeremy prepared himself mentally to answer the question. A hermit crab? Really, that was toeing the line. Nevertheless, he opened his mouth to respond, only to have a deviously intelligent idea pop into his thoughts. "Alright, Sir Mark. How about this: I'll answer, if you lead the army through the remainder of this battle."

Solving both the battle problem, and prolonging the answer, the deal also gave Jeremy a point in what he considered to be an ongoing duel between the two. The game had been born after Mark's first hinting of Jeremy sneaking into the medical tent, as Jeremy had vowed to get revenge in some small fashion for every slight the tactician had ever or would ever say.

The current score: Mark eighty-four, Jeremy six.

Mark seemed to consider the offer, biting his tongue with what appeared to be indecision. "Fine," he said. "But only if you get Roy's input as well."

Mark eighty-_five_, Jeremy six.

"Yes, of course," Jeremy replied, despite his unhappiness with the deal.

Mark made his way out of the wagon, shielding the crab with his immense layers of cloak. "Right, what's the situation?" he asked as his feet met the sand, sinking in a bit.

"It seems we've reached a stalemate against two of the enemy's dragons, and they continue to gain reinforcements in the form of wyverns," Jeremy answered as they began to trudge through the storm.

"Pull out all our ranged units, and have them concentrate of the wyvern reinforcements. The magic-users should be given a tome of Aircalibur which should, theoretically, do bonus damage against our scaly friends. Infantry should be holding the dragons away from the rangers and mages, and cavalry should dismount and do their worst on foot." Jeremy started to increase his speed, only to have Mark stop him. "Cavalry dismounting to hold a position with infantry, while the mages and rangers target separate groups... This formation shall be known as the Blasphemous Holding of Winged Siege. Okay?"

"Yes, of course, Sir Mark," Jeremy replied with a smile, turning and bolting through the storm, holding his helmet down with his hand.

"Man, Julius, this is such a rip-off," Mark said to the crab, trailing behind the soldier. "I mean, what's the point of deserts, at all? Besides the cloaking hidden cities, thing, I mean. And even that isn't full-proof. You know what I'm saying?"

The crab pooped in his hand.

Mark made a displeased face at the scat. He took a moment to process the information his eyes and hand were sending him, before shaking the hand wildly and rubbing it on the sand. "See," he said, as he lifted the hand up and inspected it, "most people would take that as an insult, but not me. Nope, I know you did it lovingly."

A few moments passed by, Mark simply standing in the midst of a really awful sandstorm, smelling and wiping the stuff off. Satisfied with his cleaning, he moved to a more shielded position, hunched over the crab with his hood up, and made his way toward the battle, only to be confronted by the familiar blue-armored soldier.

"Sir Mark!"

"Yes?"

"We have secured the area, and defeated the dragons. Orders?"

"Okay, um, how about you form everyone in to a Python Rush Formation, with all Sniper Options and infantry cleanup. Sound good?"

"Yes, but—"

"Not you," Mark replied flatly, leaning to his palms, as if straining to hear. "Uh-huh. Yes, I see your point, but we have cleanup, and sniper options... Yes, alright." Turning to Jeremy, Mark continued, "Depawed Cerberus Rush, with all Sniper Options, and Infantry Cleanup."

"Er—"

"Dismounted cavalry units go forward, rangers help pave the path, and the infantry covers the rear and finishes off any missed units. Remind me to help teach everyone about attack formations."

"Yes, of course, Sir Mark," Jeremy said, excusing himself by turning and jogging back to the front.

Mark, in his stead, pondered how the man managed to do it. Running back and forth from Mark to the front, delivering orders and carrying out said orders, before running back to receive more orders. In the sun, with metal armor.

Admittedly, wearing four layers of clothing was not a walk in the park, either (as they were in a desert, and, as such, not in a park), but it seemed to be nothing in comparison to not only Jeremy, but the entire army's predicament.

"Julius, what are you thoughts on this matter?"

Silence. Or so it seemed.

"Bullshit," Mark replied. "I have it far easier... I am not _entirely_ out of shape! Please, I'm not the one constantly fighting through dragons, and wyverns, and armored knights. Therefore, it is they who—don't use that tone of voice with me! I _will_... I'll do something if you don't sock it right now. Yes, that's what I thought. Anyway, with this new formation, we'll pave a path through this place, and, once we've captured the city, we'll hole ourselves up in it, and if the desert doesn't own the Bernese soldiers, we will. Or vice-versa.

"Yes, Julius, yes. I am a genius," Mark said, buffing his nails on the aged green of his outermost layer. "One of the best, and I'm attractive, and smooth, and humorous."

_And modest._

Mark practically heard the words, and he chuckled a bit, before continuing the walk in silence.

Strange, it was, for the tactician to not immediately field a sharp rebuttal, or at least, so the tactician himself thought. Continuing his challenging walk, he immersed himself in thoughts.

"Sir Mark?"

Bringing him out of his intense reverie, the tactician looked up at the soldier before him. "Jeremy, do you think I'm strange?" he asked, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Silence.

"I suppose that's a broad question, and far too difficult for someone of your level of intellect," Mark said quickly, "so I'll be more specific. Do you think I've been acting strangely as of late?"

The soldier paused a moment, before shaking his head and sternly replying, "No... Not at all."

"I get the feeling that hidden under your sternness is a bit of humor. Please be honest, as I have neither the time nor the will to task out an assassin to violently interrogate you."

"Oh, well, I suppose in the interest of—what? Violently—"

"Please, answer the question," Mark interjected.

"Yes, well, I suppose you're about as regular as you get," Jeremy honestly replied.

"I'm going to take that as a compliment, okay?"

"Do what you must," Jeremy muttered.

Mark eighty-five, Jeremy _seven_.

Ignoring the slight, Mark continued. "So, you're here for more orders, correct?"

"Yes," the soldier said, "we've surrounded the main entrance to the city, and are engaging the enemy, but it seems that, despite their small numbers, they've still got the strength to match us."

Mark nodded. "And, no doubt, there are more invaders inside the place... Right, I suppose this is going to have to be done the old-fashioned way," he said, starting to walk through the storm in what he supposed was the direction of the city.

"And how is that, Sir Mark?" Jeremy asked, jogging to catch up with the tactician.

"Thank you for asking," Mark said, "Julius, please, enlighten our friend as to the strategy employed by Hartmut in the twelfth major battle of the Scouring." The tactician moved so that his back was to the wind, lifting the crab for Jeremy to see.

For a moment, Jeremy simply stood there, 'listening' thoughtfully. "Er, that seems, like, an excellent choice," he said, a hint of confusion in his voice, "I had no idea that you knew of the Scouring."

"Yes, I know. A brilliant tactician and strategist and comedian with the looks of a god. _And _a historian?"

"Does it ever end?" Jeremy asked with a grin.

"No, Jeremy, no, it does not. For to be a man of culture—a man of substance, to be able to control the mightiest of things—(Like, for example, a hermit crab)—one must truly understand and utilize the the inventions of those who have come before him, while also using his own creativity." Mark ended the speech, surveying the battle before him. Six Hero-class units, a trio of nasty-looking berserkers, and a beastly dozen Dragon Knights.

"Well, I daresay that this is going to be amazing," the tactician commented as he found himself standing only feet away from the battle. "Exceptionally amazing."

Mark then rattled off a good number of orders, occasionally consulting the crab, held close to his cloak, and Jeremy rushed to deliver them, each unit nodding in unsure agreement. Returning to Mark, Jeremy inquired as to whether or not the maneuver would succeed.

"Of course," the tactician replied with a smile.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Jeremy said, "I meant to ask if it was sane or not."

"Well, if it's going to work, then the answer to your question would obviously be 'yes.'" Jeremy eyed the tactician. "Okay, fine. No. Under normal standards, this movement would be considered outright foolish, but Jeremy, my friend. Our army is made up of _beasts_."

"Beasts?"

"Rutger and Dieck could handle a bear, and, might I add for comedic purposes, with their _bare_ hands," Mark said with a chuckle, which quickly turned into laughter. "Get it? I said bear hands, even though they have people hands..."

Truly, humor was the second most prominent of his endeavors, marginally ahead of history.

"Right, then, is it time for the signal?" Mark asked.

Jeremy was silent, knowing that the question was not directed at himself.

Point for Jeremy.

"Yes. Jeremy, do you think it's time?"

"Of course, Sir Mark."

"Excellent." Mark cleared his throat loudly. "Commence Operation Dandelion!" he yelled, thrusting his hand in the air, only for his own amusement, as his units quickly scrambled throughout the field. "Jeremy, why don't you join in? It should give me some time so speak to my acquaintance, and you some practice."

Jeremy nodded and joined the fray. "Well, Julius, things are coming along—holy shit, is that Vaida? Out here?" Mark looked at her.

Despite the weather, he could still make out her appearance. Still short, but now gray hair covered her head, and, as she looked up briefly from the battle, her piercing gaze met his, and a creepy smile crept over her face. She tore away from the battle, streaking through the air, dodging arrows and launching javelins.

Mark backed away, one, two, three steps, lifting his arms up, as if it would help protect him from the lance that was approaching him.

An arrow cut into her wyvern, Umbriel, Mark thought, which let out a deafening roar, as it fell to the ground, rolling and landing in a heap.

Mark breathed a sigh of relief, lowering his arms, and dropping them to his side.

That was when the javelin grazed his shoulder. "Shit!" he muttered, falling down and holding the small cut tenderly. "NO! I'm dying! This is the end! I can see the light!"

"Shut up, you idiot. You're just fine," the voice said, its' body materializing from the sandstorm, a lance carried in her right arm. "Except that I'm about to kill you. And even despite this, you still make your jokes, and your puns, and your humor."

"Vaida... I haven't seen you in a while, so I'll pardon your error," Mark gravely said. "I don't make puns any more. But my humor is still intact. Ask this fellow, he'll vouch for me." The tactician lifted up the crab in his other hand.

"And your paramount ability to distract yourself with unimportant matters at times when you are necessary for victory has yet to be grown out of? Tisk, tisk. But I don't see that woman by your side—how unfortunate. She always seemed to be the one to save you... I suppose it is a tribute to her foolishness."

"That's toeing the line, Vaida. Now, I understand that you can be a little bit angry at times, but that is no reason to be rude to my good friends, and your one-time comrades," Mark reprimanded.

Vaida snorted. "Interesting that you scold me, even now, when I am about to cut your life short," she mused, jogging to the tactician and grabbing him, pulling a knife from her boot and holding it to his throat.. "I suppose that when you spend your time immersed in death, the only outcome would be to die yourself."

It was at that point, that Jeremy, Roy, Wolt and a few others came into view, weapons drawn.

"It seems you are too late," Vaida said to the new arrivals, pressing the knife harder into Mark's throat. "This is for Zephiel, the king of Bern!"

Blade cut through flesh, but rather than sliding it plunged straight through the chest, and dropped her to her knees, gasping. Before falling, she murmured something about failing Bern, only to have the words be lost in the wind.

The party looked up at Mark, who seemed unfazed, simply standing there as though he had not just had a knife at his throat. Approaching the party, Mark asked, somewhat boredly, "Has the leader fallen?"

"N-No, Sir Mark—are you, alright?"

"No, but I'm not in awful shape. You have impeccable aim, my dear friend," the tactician said, clasping Jeremy on the shoulder, before beginning the short trek to the front.

Roy ran over to him, falling into a slow pace beside the man. "Mark, you just had a knife at your throat, before a javelin flew under your armpit and killed someone. Are you entirely sure you're alright?"

"Yes, Roy, now please compose yourself," Mark said, continuing his stride. "Archers, front, and center!"

The battle came in to view, the leader and the Berserkers versus everyone. Mark had to give the leader credit; despite the fact that he was working for the wrong side, the man could fight. And fight well, at that.

But Mark had at least twenty beasts to sic on him. And a hermit crab. Rawr.

"Right then," Mark said, as the archers found themselves in behind him. He noted their somewhat slumped postures, some fitting arrows to their bows or going through the motions of releasing an arrow. "Um, at ease, then. Stand behind the line of swordsmen that I'm about to make, and fire at the leader on my signal."

"Yes, Sir Mark," they drawled, continuing their motions.

The tactician turned, coming face to face with Jeremy. "Jeremy, please, don't sneak up on people, it's quite rude."

"Sir Mark, I must voice my concern for your health. I think it wise for you to sit the remainder of the battle out," Jeremy said, gesturing to the bloody shoulder

"Look, Jeremy, I appreciate your concern, but this cloak is old. It's okay if it gets a little bloody, I could tell fake stories to my grandchildren about how I fought in a war—oh, wait. Right. I could tell true stories to my grandchildren—"

Ignoring Mark, Jeremy continued, "Then at least, Sir Mark, sit out the next battle, should we encounter any more Bernese forces in the city."

"If you give the Berserkers a forced retreat and gather all the swordsmen here, then yes."

Despite the impossibility of the task, Jeremy nodded, before rushing off in the direction of Rutger, who was dueling a thin man with an intimidatingly large axe.

Mark chuckled as he watched the berserkers retreating, regrouping with the leader who had retreated at the first sight of bows. Passing the swordsmen, Mark stopped, his cloak billowing in the wind.

"Guess who," Mark said in a cheerful, singsong voice, a smile firmly in place.

The leader looked up at the tactician, his stare turning into a glare as he recognized the man. "You are the tactician, Mark, who has been fighting against us so valiantly? You shall perish by the power of this lance!"

Mark looked back at the eight Alliance sword-wielders behind him, and then the six archers, before turning back, and replying, with a smirk, "Not to be negative, or anything, but I really, really, _really_ doubt that, buddy. I'll put it in terms that everyone will understand. It's like I'm... a professional lumberjack, and you're.. a twig. No, no, wait, it's like... I'm a pyromaniac, and you're a twig. A very, very _dry_ twig. Hehe. Much better."

The leader tore through the air, his wyvern taking the first volley for him. It fell to the ground, and he jumped off and prepared to throw the javelin from mid-air.

Twelve arrows plunged inside of him, though he had already released the projectile.

Mark simply watched it fall to his right and strike the ground harmlessly, as the thud alerted those present to the defeat of the enemy commander. He walked to it, pulling it from the ground with much effort, and admiring the thing. "Archers," he said, not looking up from the weapon, "I said on _my_ signal. I want you all with me before dinner starts. Also, does anyone know where the berserkers are?" Mark peered over towards the city, sighting the men crushed under the wyvern.

"Oh, well, I suppose that works," Mark murmured, turning back to the archers. "You're excused. This time. He looked to the crab in his hands. "Julius, I would like to tell you that you've been instrumental in this victory. Thank you."

Entering the city with thankfulness plastered all over their faces, the army relaxed in a large building, reclining on the aged furniture. Roy, Mark, Merlinus, Jeremy and Sophia discussed the battle.

"Mark, go to a different room to rest. We don't need you for this part."

"No."

"Mark, please?"

"No."

Roy sighed. "Lot, Ward!" he called, the Fighters running up to him and standing at attention, despite the tiredness their faces displayed. "Take Mark to be treated by Clarine."

They nodded and proceeded to drag the tactician away. Of course, he struggled, and thrashed, screaming loudly as he was pulled away, though the strength with which he did these things was thoroughly reduced, due to the large, bleeding wound on his shoulder.

"Damn it! I don't want any treatment! I am fine! LET ME GO, DAMMIT! Roy, I swear if you don't make them let me go, right now, I will shout a string of obscenities that will leave you at a loss for words!"

"Someone put a hand over his mouth," Roy ordered. Ward complied immediately, only to shudder and withdraw his hand, wiping it on his shirt.

"He licked me!" the Fighter remarked.

"It's okay, I'll do it," the other, orange-haired fighter, Lot, said, placing a gruff hand over the tactician's mouth.

As they dragged him away, Roy surveyed the room. "Where are the inhabitants?" he asked, turning to the quiet girl who looked at him with despair. "Sophia, what's wrong?"

"The entrance to the temple..." she said, slowly pointing at it. "Someone has broken through it."

Roy jogged over to it, looking over the broken lock. "It's been forced open," he said as he ran his fingers along the frame. "What's inside?"

"There is something we call the Divine Weapon. It is a spell book from the Archsage."

"There's one here, too? That must be what Bern was after. Are we too late?"

"No, I can sense that it is still here, but there are also enemies... Many, many enemies."

"Alright, let's go! We have to stop Bern from getting it!"

---

A comment: Randy, who is the leader of Bern's forces this chapter, was originally a Hero, but I made him a Dragon Lord.

*cough* 4600+ words, new record *cough*

Also, review! And thank you, everyone who has reviewed thus far!


	19. The Infernal Element

Bob Schwartz: *type, type, type, type, type* Done! Chapter nineteen is completed! Now to alert the readers! Mark, join me!

Mark: *snore*

Bob Schwartz: Mark?

Mark: *snore*

Bob Schwartz: MARK!

Mark:Wha-? I'm up, I'm up. Where am I?

Bob Schwartz: The Author's Notes of Mark's Back!

Mark: Oh.

Bob Schwartz: What do you mean, 'Oh'?

Mark: Well, you haven't updated in, like, months. I dunno. If I was a reader, I'd be pissed. It's just, come on, man. Show some care for your readers.

Bob Schwartz: Well, alright. Sorry guys. I don't really have an excuse. It's just... Ugh. Real life. Lack of inspiring events. Etc., etc. BTW, thanx 4 all the revu's, yo! I *heart* revu's.

BS, Cont.: So, for better, or for worse, Chatper 19 of Mark's Back!

---

Chapter 19: The Infernal Element

---

Mark lay upon one of twelve assembled beds, each holding a wounded member of his company. Much of his clothing was hung upon a rack to the right hand side of his cot, each with a splotch of blood in the same area: his shoulder.

He opened his eyes, blinking away sand that was generally present after many hours of sleep, but of course, this was not so, due to the fact that he'd not been sleeping for more than a half hour.

This realization hit him along with all other recollection of the days' events. Commanding the army, arrival to the enemy leader, a wound in someplace... It all flashed before his eyes, and he shot up from his previously lying down position, immediately regretting it as his pristinely white bandages were soiled with blood.

"Oh yeah. Javelins hurt," he muttered, falling back down to the bed with very little acknowledgment of the pain.

For a few moments he simply laid on the cot, the flow of blood slowing to a trickle, as he strained to remember what had happened while he was unconscious.

"Sir Mark?" a voice came, interrupting his train of thought and grasping his attention. "Sir Mark, your wound has reopened... I'll go get Ellen."

"Jeremy, while you're at it, get me a few brownies and prepare to launch into a quick summary of what's happened since our capture of this city," the tactician ordered as his soldier left the room, leaving him to his thoughts for a short while.

And a very short while indeed, for only moment later, a brunette Priestess rushed into the room, her Mend staff held firmly in hand. "Oh, your wounds..."

"Yes, they're open, brilliant observation. Could you please fix them?"

Ellen nodded quickly, beginning to unwrap the gauze around his shoulder, occasionally eliciting a grunt of pain from the now-annoyed tactician.

Using his unwounded arm, he pinched the temple of his nose, eyes shut tightly. "Jeremy—sweet Elimine, slow down, woman—would you give me a status report?"

"Uh, certainly, Sir Mark. After arriving inside the city and handling the remainder of the enemy soldiers, who fought to the death, it was uncovered that a small contingent of them were in an underground temple, attempting to secure the Divine Weapon Forblaze. Dieck, Rutger and Master Roy are among the party assembled who are to clear out the place. We have a total of twelve wounded, and zero dead, from our previous engagement."

"Well of course there aren't any dead, ya dumby. I was commanding with my—MY GOD, WOMAN, OW—superior intelligence and obscene level of awesomeness. People don't die when they have this much ownage. But our present objective is the capture of the underground temple, correct?"

"Yes, Sir Mark."

Mark inhaled crisply, gritting his teeth as his now partially healed, though still tender, wound was covered tightly in gauze. "Alright, so we'll head down there, and do some flashy moves, kick some Bernese ass, come out on top, then move on? What say you, Soldier Jeremy?"

"I say no. You're in no condition to be on the field, Sir Mark. You were given pain medication before falling asleep and this leads me to the conclusion that you aren't mentally stable."

Mark made a face at Jeremy's words, eying the soldier disdainfully. "Jeremy, I know things. Very many things, about people," he began, vaguely. "Things like... embarrassing things..."

Jeremy could scarcely stifle his grin. He rose an eyebrow at Mark's statement, despite the possibility which lurked in the back of his mind. The possibility that Mark knew of the Winter Holidays of his Senior year of the Ostian Military Institute.

But there was no way, and so he replied, with little care, "And what embarrassing thing could you be referring to?"

The tactician smiled deviously, asking Ellen to leave the room. She obliged quickly and without hesitation, far preferring the outside and moderately serene city than the tenseness that seemed to be developing.

"Jeremy, Jeremy, Jeremy... I am, of course, referring to the Winter Holidays of your Senior year of the Ostian Military Institute, the beautiful crystalline bowl which will never again see the light of day, the reward of five-thousand gold, and the oh-so close dismissal from consideration that, by a hair, went to Private Charles Clemens!"

_Oh shit._

The thought repeated itself in Jeremy's mind, twenty times over, the soldier making no attempt to even hide his fear, his mouth wide open. How was it possible that Mark, the tactician with the emotional maturity and sense-of-humor of a teaspoon could have learned of such an event?

All the witnesses had been compromised. The bowl had been secured and deposited in a safe-zone—a place where no one would ever again find it. No, Mark's resources were far beyond what Jeremy could have ever imagined. That he could have so easily gained access to information of this magnitude...

Meanwhile, Mark lay atop his white-sheeted bed, smirking to himself like a madman.

Jeremy was more of a crazy man than he'd imagined, and he'd found out by the most epic stab in the dark he'd ever... stabbed. A punch-bowl, five-thousand gold, and the dismissal of Charles Clemens... And it was all a guess. Truly, it was amazing.

Mark used logic to deduce how exactly it played out.

No doubt, in his senior year at the Ostian Military Institute, the most pristine and well-known academy for soldiers and officers in Lycia, Jeremy had been offered a deal. In exchange for five-thousand gold, he would do some sort of heinous act to or in a punch-bowl, such as urinating in the punch, perhaps switching it with alcohol and accidentally ending up drinking the whole thing and getting terribly drunk; it mattered not. All that mattered was the, in the course of this action, he managed to anger an officer of high rank, and he ended up framing Charles Clemens, and paying off everyone who knew with his five-thousand.

But this was the only concrete data Mark could discern from the given information. Everything else would be speculation. Sure, he could likely fill in every portion of the story with factual arguments, but he had little time. So, so little time... Because, alas, he had troops to command, Bernese to slay, and Divine Weapons to capture from villages inhabited by dragons.

Just another day in the life of Mark the tactician.

"So, Jeremy, how about you take me to this temple and we rendezvous with our offensive forces and further prove my skills?"

_-Arcadian Temple-_

Roy whistled as he observed the massive complex. Paths of sining blue tile matched beautifully the water which dominated much of the temple. Several waterfalls loosed a stream of water into the largest space of water in the place, multiplying the serene feel one would get upon entering.

This was interrupted, of course, by the yells of Bernese soldiers, far off from some walled-off area in the center of the temple.

And these yells brought Roy into the psyche of an enraged warrior. The Bernese were disturbing the people of Arcadia, who's only wish was to exist peacefully, free of the squabbles and wars and strife of the outside world.

It was unforgivable.

And so, Rapier in hand, he turned to his small unit, consisting of exactly ten units, himself included, versus the rival Bernese detachment, at least fifty trained soldiers, one of which was likely a very skilled officer in the Bernese Army.

"I want Lance, Alan and Marcus to ride across this large path to that central area there, with Lilina, Lugh and Saul as well. Miledy, you are to protect us as best you can from enemy wyverns, and the rest of us will follow the cavalry. Understood?"

Nods, murmurs of "yeah" and three crisp salutes met the young Lord, before each member of the extremely small deployment dispersed, lazily moving to carry out their orders, the only people showing any signs of immense effort being Alan, Lance and Marcus. The battle just fought had been a taxing one, greatly weakening the already extremely dehydrated troops.

And Roy, too, was tired, both physically, and emotionally. Killing eleven men in the previous engagement, and commanding the deaths of at least forty others did take its toll.

But, making a mental note to ask Mark for coping mechanisms, Roy made for the front, trailing behind the cavalry.

Twelve strides forward, he slipped, landing on his rear.

All around him, the beautiful blue tiles were sinking underwater.

_-Arcadia-_

"Is it that one?"

"No."

"... Is it... that one?"

"No."

"That one?" Mark asked for the twenty-fourth time (Jeremy had counted), pointed at a building to their right.

"No."

For the entire walk from the makeshift medical ward, Mark had been pointing to and asking if certain buildings were the temple. Needless to say, he was wrong every single time, leading Jeremy to reply negatively, and Mark to once more inquire if that building was the temple, etcetera, etcetera.

"Is it that one?"

"SIR MARK, WHEN WE ARRIVE AT THE BUILDING, YOU WILL KNOW, BECAUSE I WILL TELL YOU THAT IT IS SUCH!" Jeremy huffed, red in the face by the end of his rant.

"So, is that a yes... or a no?"

Jeremy made what could be adequately described as an angry sound, stomping off, Mark trailing behind him. They walked in silence for a few minutes, until Jeremy stopped, Mark, having been looking at his feet the entire walk, bumping into him.

"Oh. I bet it's that one."

The urge to say something sarcastic had never been so great within Jeremy, and were he not a a soldier of the great land of Lycia, he would have lost his temper right then and there. Instead, he clenched his fists, and walked inside the double doors to a massive, beautifully carved building, Mark following.

Within it was a lengthy spiral staircase, the roof no more than seven feet from the steps at any given moment. For some odd reason, the exact identity of which was alien to the tactician, he felt cramped. And so he bolted—yes, Mark the tactician, who's physical capability is equal to that of a cow—bolted down the staircase, taking the steps five at a time.

Arriving at a set of double doors, both slightly ajar, the tactician grasped them and, with veritable effort, he swung them open, the sight before him would-be beauty, if not for the dead Bernese which littered the floor, the awful bloody color a stark contrast with the blue tile.

"Well, Roy seems to have done a better job than I'd imagined..." Mark mused as he observed the corpses lay on the ground, at least twenty in total. He looked past them, the visage of a battle greeting him.

He smiled and proceeded to walk to it.

_-Roy's Company-_

_Where is Mark?_

Roy was without confidence, in light of Mark's wound. With the numbers his enemy had, and his own—ten, tired, haggard units, himself included—the battle would have been considered a miracle in its own right. Twenty-six kills without a single bad wound in the entire group.

But, factoring in Rutger and Dieck's beastliness, and the element of surprise, it seemed less and less like a miracle and more like momentum, which had abruptly been halted by a quartet of magic-users.

And so, dodging bombardments of flaming energy, bolt of lightning, and then the blades and lances of his foes, Roy hardly had any time to plan.

"Hey, Roy, spin left."

Roy immediately spun, finding himself in an opportune position to lunge, he extended his blade into his foes' chest, killing him immediately. He smiled at his reflex. Maybe he was getting the hang of warzone combat.

Then it hit him.

He turned, facing Mark.

"Mark!" he called, a grin spreading over his features.

"Yes, thank you, thank you! I am Mark, legendary tactician, who's skill is matched by none, and who's awesomeness smites all those within its' path. I have come to destructificate our foes."

Roy was relieved.

"What is our current position?"

---

The battled immediately turned into an obscene charge, in favor of the Lycian forces. It was as though Mark's mere presence inspired victory and instilled fear. It took the entirety of fourteen minutes for his forces to finish off the majority of the Bernese, and another two to handle their commander, who was but an elder man, more of a scholar than a mage.

At his death, brought about by a savage cut from Rutger, Roy entered down a set of steps, leading into a lower level of the complex, lit by flames, as though they had the means to exist without smoking up the place. Mark, with Sophia in tow, followed the Lord.

"It is here, within this altar..." Sophia murmured, her quiet voice scarcely audible over the sound of relaxed conversation from up above.

Roy approached it, standing over a glass door. Below the transparent material lay a book, red in color. Gravity seemed to multiply as Roy moved his hand to the handle. He made an attempt to open it, failing. A second time, he used more power, still failing miserably. "It won't open..." he murmured.

"Money says we need something magical to open it. Say, thirty gold? Any takers?"

"This altar is made so that only those of this village may open it. Please, allow me."

Roy scooted over, giving the girl space. She reached for the handle, swinging it open with little visible effort, and retrieving the tome. It seemed to radiate a small amount of heat. "There... This is the Divine Weapon... The 'Infernal Element,' Forblaze, wielded by the Archsage Athos."

Roy extended his arm to grasp it, only for Mark to snatch it from him. He whistled as he admired the thing. "It's been a long time since I've gotten to see this thing. Still in pristine condition. It's like a brand new Fire tome. I'll see to it that Merly doesn't get mischievous and try to use it. You remember what happened with Durandal..." Mark gave a mock shudder, exiting the temple, Roy and Sophia following.

As the trio found themselves once again in the underground oasis, they made for the exit, the combat group having long since exited.

As they found themselves in the outside again, Jeremy, who had been silent since the battle, advised that they convene with the elders, or, more accurately, elder, of the city, about the Divine Weapon.

Walking down towards the second-largest of the buildings assembled in the city, a set of double doors were swung open, admitting Mark, Jeremy, Roy, and Sophia.

Within was an old man, hunched down with a walking stick. His head was bald, and his eyebrows were thick with white hair, sagging on the ends to the point that one would assume that sight was an impossibility.

"Ah, Master Roy, and Sophia... I must thank you again for driving away those soldiers of Bern. Oh, and forgive me for not introducing myself earlier, but I am the Elder of this city Arcadia."

"You don't _look _like a dragon..." Mark mused from behind Roy and Sophia. "Are you secretly a ninja-dragon? Can you do dragon tricks?"

Roy was not in a state of shock, but rather disappointment. While it had been entirely probable for Mark to speak so freely, that he would have actually done it... How awful. Roy looked at the Elder, fully prepared to see a red-faced man, preparing to transform into a dragon and kill them.

Instead, the man was smiling, and he even began to laugh. "I was, but it has been many years since I have been called that, but that is a story of times long past."

"And he doesn't even have dragon stories. Tisk, tisk. How disappointing. If anyone needs me, I'm gonna go talk to my fellow awesome companion, who is not as awesome as me, but very much so because of his axe-wielding skills and his tan, which on a level that I daresay is unreal."

"I even would say that the only dragon in this village is Fa."

Peeking from behind the elder, a small, purple-haired girl with bright green eyes smiled tentatively. "Hello," she shyly greeted, not inching out very much from behind the man.

Roy felt the urge to chuckle, but he suppressed it. "This little girl is a dragon?" he inquired. Mark's voice rang in his head. _Oh, come on, Roy. She's like, an inch shorter than you. You aren't that tall. I mean, why would you be? You're like, twelve, right?_

Bringing himself back to reality, Roy managed to catch the last portion of the Elder's reply, "...far from mature form."

"Elder, do you know anything of the dragon of Bern?"

A look of shock and disbelief appeared on the man's aged features. "What?! They've dragon in Bern?" he nearly yelled.

"Yes," Roy solemnly replied. "We have seen and dueled with them."

His look having shifted from fear and shock to a form of confusion, the Elder replied, "But... There are no dragons on any portion of this land of Elibe, save for in this village of Arcadia..."

The doors opened widely again, a tall, very tanned woman with blond hair walking through them. She wore red armor, with a brown sash covering her right side, and a quiver slung over her back. "Elder, if I may..."

"Yes, Igrene?"

"Before the Bernese troops overtook us, Fa said that she sensed an 'evil presence' coming from deep within the Bernese troops. Perhaps this may link with the dragons Roy speaks of."

"Perhaps... If only I were younger..." the man mused.

"What do you mean?" Roy inquired.

In an all too Mark-like fashion, the Elder cut off Igrene, replying, "Well, there are several contributing reasons to my wanting of my younger days, but at present, it would be beneficial, because I could sense the force and determine what exactly it is."

Rephrasing the question, Roy asked, "What do you mean by force?"

Igrene answered as quickly as possible. "Sophia is half-dragon, half-human. This gives her the ability to detect pulses emitted by other dragons. But, because her abilities are so unrefined, she was only able to distinguish that there was an energy which was twisted unnaturally. I believe looking into this matter is a wise maneuver. Elder, if you would, please allow me to join these soldiers."

"I really do not wish to deal with the matters of the Outside..."

"If dragons have returned, it is almost our duty to look into it. As well, Mark, the man who lead my father and the Archsage is traveling amongst Roy and his comrades. I believe all will be well."

"Fine, then. Roy, would you accept her?"

Before Roy could reply, Igrene cut him off. "I am Igrene, Guardian of Nabata. I have confidence in my skills with a bow, and I believe that I can aid you in combat."

"Thank you," Roy replied, the evidence behind his words prevalent on his young features.

"Fa's going too!"

"No, absolutely not! There is no telling what would happen if you revealed yourself to the world!"

Fa pouted silently, her little arms folded, a frown planted firmly on her lips.

Everyone else present departed from the room, leaving Fa behind. "Okay, then. Fa will go anyway!"

---

"Hawkeye!" Mark yelled in a singsong voice. "Hawkeye!"

"Mark?"

Mark spun, coming face to face with a massive figure, easily standing a foot-and-a-half taller than himself. "Hawkeye!" Mark cried, hopping up in the air and making to clasp the Berserker on his back, failing, and only patting the man's shoulder.

Hawkeye chuckled, his gray ponytail bouncing in the air. "It is good to see you so young and zealous. Tell me, what are your secrets for staying so youthful and vibrant? I believe I could make use of them myself."

It was Mark's turn to chuckle. "Hawkeye, it seems my humor did have a profound effect on you. I'm glad. Anywho, I'm just going to cut to the chase. You should come with us. We need someone who's big, and not dumb, and very few of our units, if any at all, meet that requirement."

"Ah, Mark, is that not what training is for?"

"You can't teach people to be smarter. It just doesn't work that way. And, although I'm sure we could thicken them up with meats and workout routines, I believe that just having a pre-made unit would save us a load of pain."

"I am sorry, but my place is here, in Arcadia."

"Is there nothing I can do to convince you?"

"I am sorry, but there is nothing."

Mark sighed. "Alright, fine. I won't try to convince you. Elimine knows what happened the last time I tried to do that."

Hawkeye grinned sheepishly. "I didn't _think_ my axe was harder than your skull..."

---

OKAY! I KNOW THE HERMIT CRAB DIDN'T GET MUCH ATTENTION, BUT I WILL FIX THIS NEXT CHAPTER! IT'S ALL PART OF THE PLAN!

Remember to review! Even if you're pissed 'cause I haven't posted a chapter in a LONG time! Review anyway so I won't do that again!


	20. Mark's Army

Author: I'm back and all that. Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, et cetera. Enjoy this chapter and such. Apologies for the lateness.

Mark: What? That's it? No lengthy explanation?

Author: Quiet, sonny. My dear readers are awaiting a rather enticing, exciting chapter. Let the adults enjoy themselves.

Mark: Meh. What-evs. Thank goodness I'm in this.

Author: Your presence is the whole damn reason this story exists.

Mark: Yes, thank you. I've been told I'm rather amazing.

Author: …Oh, God help me…

---

Chapter 20: Mark's Army

---

Mark ran a hand through his hair, his fingers breaking up the tangles they ran into despite the pang of pain each tangle caused. The tactician had long since grown used to it. He rather enjoyed keeping his hair at length and messy, and had had it so for as long as he could remember. The little bit of pain breaking a tangle caused him was nothing to what he'd been through.

Momentarily, he thought of what Jeremy had told him about Julius' fate. How the crab had taken an arrow for a comrade in the battle following the capture of Arcadia, and been slain. A funeral service had apparently been had inside the city while the tactician was unconscious. Truly, he died a hero's death.

Shrugging off the thought, Mark managed to slip Lalam's 'food' down his throat, pretending it was actually manure.

That made it bearable to eat.

But what it really was, he dared not wonder. Just the fleeting thought of it caused him to retch slightly and shudder in fear. He strode over to the massive pot of 'stew' which the Dancer had brewed; he placed his bowl to its immediate right, the third in a stack that would become as high as he was by the day's end.

And as he did so, he mused that it was about time to inform Roy of the half-dragon which he had met earlier on in the week. She was apparently a stowaway, mooching off of the company's supplies since they had departed from Arcadia, and the two met through a rather odd circumstance.

---

"_Oh, good lord, I need some time off. I'm getting wrinkles. When we hit Aquleia, Elliot's gonna be sooo pissed." The tactician was reminiscing over memories long since been made, from his time in the Etrurian capital before the war, as he strode over to a supply cart for a snack. Three days in a row he'd downed Lalam's 'lunch'. He needed a goddess damned break._

_As he grasped the curtain which separated the inner-area of the cart from the outside, the sound of quiet munching drifted to his ears. _

_Mark froze. Several thoughts quickly flitted through his mind. Was there someone else eating good food? No, they knew about the energizing properties of the crazed dancer's food seemed to have. Dessert? No. Mark had banned dessert on the premise that it made his troops out of shape and therefore inadequate to fight the Bernese._

_And they had believed him._

_Ha._

_Foolish people._

_Snapping himself back to the present, the tactician set his mind on the idea that they had been infiltrated. Did he petition Roy for assistance? No. Jeremy? Certainly not. He settled on picking up a stick and gripping it tightly. He did have the element of surprise, although his foe would most likely have the element of being in better shape and not as semi-uncoordinated._

_So in the end, it would be a pitched battle. He always __had__ been a rather talented screamer, so there was always that._

_Resolutely, and with all the finality of Mark the tactician, he threw open the blue curtains and jumped inside, his weapon brandished overhead. He called out a ferocious battle-cry, which served a dual purpose. One, it could intimidate the enemy, and two, it would likely alert the army to the fact that a fierce battle was about to take place._

_And as he blinked and found himself back in reality, his vision was filled by an agonizing yellow color as __something__ slammed into him, knocking him backwards. He landed on the hard ground on his back, moaning quietly as his head slammed down to the ground. There was a heavy weight on top of him, though it quickly removed itself and began to apologize profusely._

_Mark hopped up with all the dignity and grace of one in his situation could be expected to have, and dusted himself off. "Yes, well, I suspected as much. I have now lowered you into a false sense of security, and my troops are going to be short in coming. If you do not run, you will be punished less."_

_It was then that he took stock of the small, purple-haired girl before him. She wore an innocent expression, and an awful yellow coat, with two pairs of boots._

_Oh, and two large wings flapped softly from her back._

_Hm. Seems normal. Got two feet, a pair of eyes, hair, probably some ears under that hair, and a couple of wings. Okay… Wait. What? The Hell?!__ While the tactician processed that, Jeremy appeared and began to question the girl. "She's a dragon!" Mark yelled, tackling Jeremy down. _

_The soldier pushed him off gruffly and stood, brushing himself free of dust. "If I may take a page from your book, Sir Mark, no dip. While you've been battling out your rather intense inner-monologue, I have been interviewing this girl, Fa. She has essentially stowed away in our supply carts, stealing our food and attempting to experience the world outside of Nabata."_

"_Oh. So did you or did you not ask if she would prefer tea or water? We have a long discussion to… discuss."_

"_Erm… I seem to have overlooked that, Sir Mark. My apologies."_

---

But, first things first. He needed to be absolutely sure of the whereabouts of the girl's dragonstone. Truly, she was useless in combat without it, and if there was one thing the tactician knew about battle, it was that if you have a dragon, you better fucking use it.

Perhaps not in such strong terms, but that was the gist of it.

He glided over to his old, almost entirely torn-up tent and peeked through the flaps, smiling as he saw the dragon-girl packing up his things for him. "Fa, do you have your stone?" At her nod in the affirmative, he continued. "I believe it is time you meet General Roy. Some call him my protégé, although most would agree that I am decidedly cleverer and a great deal more attractive. Also, he is rather short, so if you can't spot him because he's behind a shrubbery or something, please do not worry."

The Manakete nodded, following him out of the tent and to perhaps the largest of the tents. He pulled a dagger from his robes, and cut a triangular hole in the roof. "Roy? Roy!" he yelled into the tent, until a groggy redhead looked moved to look up through the gap in the tent. "I'd like to introduce you to Fa, here."

"Hello," she said politely.

"She'll be joining our army and she's quite well-versed in the art of transforming into dragons and breathing fire," Mark said, like he was reading off of a list. "A welcome addition to our army, what with how terribly pathetic we are against dragons."

Roy merely nodded tiredly, his eyelids scarcely cracked, and his hair matted to his forehead in a rather messy state, somewhat reminiscent of the brown hair on Mark's own head as he kept it regularly. "Why is there a hole in my tent?" he asked blankly, unable to absorb all the information Mark was throwing at him in light of the early hour.

Roy and Mark had been going over his never-ending list of strategies (Mark had not divulged the key, which would make a world of difference, instead pounding the information into the young lord's head) the previous night. He had taught the boy until his head had simply hit the table due to a mix of tiredness and the lateness of the night. And then he had dragged him to his tent.

The Pheraen would probably feel that when he was fully awake.

"Oh, I had to cut it so I could see you. It's improper not to speak to someone directly in the face. You know how I hate impoliteness."

Roy nodded sagely. "Right. I do," he replied with no trace of sarcasm or humor in his tone—a fact which made Mark commit to memory how willing the general was to work with him when sleepy. "And I'll be going back to sleep now. Good night."

"Good afternoon, Roy. Oh, and I won't be repairing this hole. And I'm going to organize a march towards a nearby Etrurian-held fortress. I would predict our losses to number in the form of half our troops if I do not have complete and utter control over all aspects of the army. May I be given temporary command over all things military, including training time, food regimens, and military finances until such a time is reached that we are in possession of the fortress?"

"Yeah, sure, sure. Mark knows best, after all," the lord murmured, slipping back into the darkness of the far-reaches of his tent.

Had Roy said that while being a mite bit more… sober, Mark would have felt genuinely complimented. Instead, he had to satisfy himself with solace in the form of only two things: one, that the compliment, despite the terms under which the speaker had spoken it (a boy, hardly a teen, in a rather muddled state of mind), must have some bit of truth, and also that he now had control of the only readily-available fighting force which could combat the Bernese Army (a whopping two or three hundred units, although most of the team could match up to three or four enemies at a time and come out victorious.

So it wasn't all bad.

Actually, it didn't seem to be bad at all.

Roy appeared to believe that Mark was a wise person to consult on these sorts of matters, and that the tactician could enact some of his rather insane training schedules… He could whip the army into shape in just a few days. And by 'in shape', Mark meant that each and every member of is company would be able to match blades against ten men, and mages could match spells with at least five enemy mages.

Mages had a time killing other mages. It was simply a fact of nature, which Mark had come to respect and deal with.

However annoying it could be.

And so, with a slight grin on his face in spite of his realization over magic on magic battling, Mark approached a finely done tent, well-made and kept in excellent condition. The tactician paused at the flap and asked that Fa stay outside, to which she replied, "Of course," allowing him to make his way inside unimpeded.

And as he made his way in, he could not help but crack the slightest of smiles at the interior of the thing before directing his gaze to the slumbering soldier before him. The tactician got very close to his soldier's ear, and then, at the top of his lungs yelled, "JEREMY! GET UP!"

Needless to say, the soldier was not pleased with his awakening.

Nor was Mark, as Jeremy cursed and held his ears tightly, occasionally releasing his hold on them to scratch his short black hair. Mark began to just tune him out after, "-the hell wakes someone up at this hour?!" Instead, he sat, humming a soft tune so softly that even if the soldier wasn't yelling and screaming ceaselessly, he still wouldn't be able to hear.

After a suitable time had passed, spent entirely with Jeremy cursing and screaming while Mark reflected on how his scheme actually ended up being not worth it, despite the satisfying feeling he had felt when viewing the shocked expression on his comrade's profile. "So anyway, Roy gave me full run of the army and—"

"He WHAT?!"

"Yeah, he was rather not fully conscious so I thought to take advantage of the situation, and get the army under my thumb until we liberate a certain Etrurian, or rather Bernese-held castle." Mark shrugged at Jeremy's shocked expression. The man really did need to get used to Mark and his amazing skills. "So, effective immediately, we are going to institute the training program known as, _If You Train Harder Than This, Why aren't you in an Insane Asylum?_"

"It sounds…"

"Yes, great, I know. I invented it. I believe our troops will be eating Lalum's super-energizing specials for three meals a day, seven days a week."

Jeremy was not excited.

---

The man was decked out in full military regalia—brown combat boots, and pants tucked in, green with stains of crimson. A shirt was tucked into the pants, with a brown sash hanging over his shoulder, showcasing a number of borrowed daggers from Chad and Astol.

"Welcome, welcome, welcome," Mark said, as he walked across his assembled force, apparently three hundred and nineteen able-bodied soldiers, with another ten or so wounded and as such, unable to attend the training session.

And Roy.

But he was asleep, and Mark had no plans on allowing him to know what was going on, lest his power be revoked.

"You all may be wondering why you're here. Well, I've brought you because your fighting ability—" he took a pause to spit on one soldier's (Jeremy's) feet "—disgusts me. I want to see you bringing the smackdown on ten soldiers at a time. Do you know what a Bernese regular under the command of a Wyvern General can do?

"I've seen soldiers break swords with their bare hands. And I've seen swords break soldiers with their bare blades. Yes, I've seen it all. By the time we're done here, you'll be able to do both, although how I'm going to make you all swords is still somewhat confounding. Rest assured, we'll find a way."

The soldiers had snickered at his comment.

This did not please Mark. He walked up, slowly, to one of the soldiers, and made it so their noses almost touched. "You think this is funny?" he asked softly. "Wrong! We're fighting a war people. You'll be seeing it all here. War machines as high as a dozen men, ballista that can shoot the distance of four hundred meters. We'll find men as big as a building, with arms thicker than trees.

"And you will have to fight them." By this time, Mark was walking purposefully, dangerously, in front of his troops. "So, effective now, I want you all to take a jog around camp. You have three minutes."

At their blank expression, Mark began to count.

They were off to the races.

And Mark simply stood, awaiting the first arrivals—Rutger and Astol, before the others, and the armored knights, who, even without their armor, weren't remarkably spry.

And then Bors came, huffing in effort. As he gripped the shoulder of one of his comrades, Mark heaved an obviously false sigh. "Three minutes and eight seconds," he said, raising the volume his voice, and repeating, "Three minutes. And eight seconds. Pitiful." He looked down and shook his head. "We will be working on only running for three days per week. I want all Armored-Knights up here, front and center."

They moved quickly, the carefree (and rather foolish) tactician that they had come to know, love, and harbor no respect for, seemingly absent. "How many of you are there? About forty? You're all Ostian, yes?"

They all nodded, a few daring to reply in the affirmative.

"Gentlemen, you are the pride of Ostia. You, along with the cavalry of Pherae, and the mages of Araphen, are the cornerstones of our fair land. And some of you can barely run this distance in three minutes. Others can't even do that at all." He laughed dryly. "Everyone besides these _knights,_ take another jog. I want you back in five."

They followed his instructions and departed, moving obviously slower than earlier, leaving only Mark and the Ostians. He pulled out several stakes of wood from his cloak, gathered while Jeremy had roused the troops. He placed them each about ten meters apart, about creating a distance of forty or so meters total. "Line up on that stake," he commanded, and they did. "You will be running from that stake to the second and back, then to the third and back and finally to the fourth and back. We will do this only five times, provided you all give an honest effort. No lagging."

Mark did not crack a grin through the entirety of this gruesome workout. He only watched with a stone-cold grimace as the knights lugged their massive weight around, attempting to placate his newfound anger. "I've seen cows move faster than you, but seeing as none of you are willing to make out an honest effort, I suppose it's pointless to continue. Go back to that group."

And as they did, Mark couldn't help but think that they moved faster than when they were doing their exercises. "I'd like a quick group. Myrmidons and thieves. Front and center."

They all moved quickly, save Rutger, who simply walked forward with his usual scowl. "Line up on the line," he continued as he set out another few stakes, making the total distance sixty meters. "Main group, take a jog while these runners get themselves into shape." As they departed, the tactician cracked a feral smile. "You will all do ten of these runs in less than one minute. After that is over, I will dismiss the first place winners until I am out of people. Begin."

The process proceeded with all other classes, and ended at around sundown. "Tomorrow, we will be marching on a fortress in the mountains. We will cover twenty-five miles before practicing our weapons. I will be inspecting tents tomorrow. Dismissed."

As the army hobbled away, grumbling about a slave-driver, Mark couldn't help but crack a smile. He'd whip the army into shape. Who knows, maybe he could get his hands on a renegade Bernese and coerce him into releasing training secrets.

---

A man in ornate white robes sat on a throne in the Etrurian capital, sipping a rather sweet wine, native to the Caerlon Duchy. Before him were five soldiers in a V formation, each on one knee, heads bowed in respect and fear. "Gentlemen," Lord Waldstein said, and his men did not move. "The Lycia Alliance Army is marching on Fortress Reginald. I have petitioned you, my most skilled, intelligent, and loyal soldiers, help me make my decision."

"It is an honor, my lord."

Waldstein nodded, taking a sip, twisting his face into a grimace and tossing the glass into a far-off corner, it breaking open with a satisfying sound. "Yes, it is." He paused, frowning as he realized the fact that he did not have any wine. "I have realized that they will reach the fortress in but a few days. I will either allow them the fort and pull out the residential army back here to Aquleia to protect this place or I will let our troops fight them and become defeated, before launching a siege on the newly captured fortress while they are still weary from fighting. Maxwell. Thoughts?"

"I am in support of the former stratagem, my lord. Why waste so many soldiers when we can simply crush them as one here?"

"My lord, if I may? We should move with the latter idea. The Alliance has few soldiers, albeit very skilled ones. Therefore, tiring them will be the most effective, even if it is at the expense of four or five hundred soldiers."

Waldstein nodded, taking in their ideas. _Mark, can you match up to the power of Bern? Will you wiggle your way out of this situation? Do numbers really have no matter when I am dealing with one as skilled as you?_

Resolutely, Waldstein stood up. "Gentlemen, we will be preparing an army of one thousand men to retake the castle. See to it that they are ready to depart the morning after tomorrow."

A crisp salute. "Yes, my lord!"

---

This chapter was mainly about getting things up and running. This is where we make a rather large deviation from the game's plot. In the game, I _believe_ that The Lycia Alliance Army takes the fortress and recruits Percival and his lot before making the march to Aquleia.

But would Waldstein (who is now the man who really holds the power (the instigators of the coup are boss in name only)) really let the Alliance walk around in his domain willy nilly? I think not!

And I am sorry for the lack of humor in here. It's certainly not my best chapter, or at least that's what I think. And as for Mark being all dictator-ish and forcing the army to work out, relentlessly… Well, that's got a direction. I've actually got a number of plans to integrate into this here.

Oh, and review. Please.


End file.
